


Ascribe to Heaven

by CosaMia



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Multi, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosaMia/pseuds/CosaMia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He did not consider himself a wise man, but one thing he knew for sure. Everything in this world was limited by time. Everything - and every being - had a certain amount of time in its hourglass. Nothing lasts forever. Also this shall pass. And that is the way it should be. This used to be a comforting thought. It grounded him, prevented him from pride or brooding. A reminder of how small he really was. But not anymore. Time was running out. For him, Loghain Mac Tir. And all the world, as he knew it."</p><p>How Loghain Mac Tir met Marian Hawke. Set before and during the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The remedies in ourselves

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to Heaven."

— William Shakespeare, _All's Well That Ends Well_

 

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

 

Time is funny concept, he thought to himself. Free but invaluable. Abstract but always present. Measurable in theory, but in practice sometimes unforeseeable, and helplessly connected to subjective experiences of events and emotions.

Through history time had been materialized, clarified by different instruments; sundials and hourglasses. For people with long lives time revealed itself through decaying buildings and rashvine climbing their walls. Maybe the ancient elves even lived long enough to notice how rocks became sharpened by sun and rain, he thought. Long enough to experience oceans withdrawing and deserts blooming. A gleam of eternity.

He was older than he ever expected to be. Older than he ever wanted to be, truth be told. He had escaped death and been rescued from it. Even pardoned, once. He had lived a long and full life. Experienced more than most people, and without a doubt more than a farmers son could ever imagine. He had even started to grow accustomed to the thought of dying in a bed, fat and - oh, the mere thought - bald. That possibility was now rather diminished.

Yes, time was a funny concept. Inevitable and powerful. Ever changing and never yielding. No doubt it had changed him in many ways; painted the world in more grays and less black and white. One thing it hadn't changed was his stubbornness, which had only grown sharper. Less brash perhaps, but not less persistent. That side of him was not altered, _au contraire_ (unlike his more and more frequent use of orlesian expressions, maker preserve us).

He was born stubborn and he would die stubborn. Stubborn as crop growing in barren lands. Stubborn as the cold, damp winds of Gwaren which always seemed to find its way through ones clothes, regardless of material or the amount of layers. Now that stubbornness had driven him here, and all he could think was "I am too old for this".

He did not consider himself a wise man, but one thing he knew for sure. Everything in this world was limited by time. Everything - and every being - had a certain amount of time in its hourglass. Nothing lasts forever. Also this shall pass. And that is the way it should be. This used to be a comforting thought. It grounded him, prevented him from pride or brooding. A reminder of how small he really was. But not anymore. Time was running out. For him, Loghain Mac Tir. And all the world, as he knew it.

 

\---

 

It was dark when he left. His room was covered in it. The whole fortress was. Not the confined, stuffy darkness one might encounter in cramped spaces. Nor the temporary, velvety darkness of summer nights; granting a moments rest, a breathing space between days of sticky heat. This darkness was not the absence of light excisting in forgotten corners. Not the darkness offering a respite necessary in order to endure the light.

The darkness of his room was connected to the darkness of the warden quarters, and the darkness of the warden quarters was connected to fort Montsimmard. Here, the darkness was part of the interior. A subject, a citizen. It was not simplistic. It breathed and shifted like a living organism. It was not that kind of darkness one would want to fumble or wander through. Maybe this is what darkness becomes, he thought to himself. What darkness becomes if its allowed to take its time.

He had fallen asleep in this darkness, awoken in this darkness, so many times he had grown accustomed to it. Once this darkness would have frightened him, but somewhere between that distant past and tonight something had changed. A lot of things had changes. Darkness was not foreign or frightening anymore. Until recently. It had had started singing, humming under his breath. He had tried to shut it out, but the Calling was not a part of the outer darkness. It was part of the darkness within.

At first he had simply run. Or, rather his horse had. Away from Montsimmard and his brothers and sisters. Away from his crazed commander and her heretical orders (to be fair Loghain did not care that much about any possible heresy, but he did care about the fact that Clarel obviously had gone mad). Like a thief in the night he vanished into the woods around Lake Celestine. He exhausted his horse, putting as much distance as he could between him and the other wardens.

The Dales were not really an alternative. Normally those woods would offer a challenge; beasts, spirits and of course dalish elves. Now there was also the civil war to consider. Loghain could still hold his own, but he was not seeking adventure. He was trying to disappear.

He could not go east. Even though he knew of a few more or less safe passages through the Frostbacks, Ferelden would be a bad choice. He would be recognized. He did not want to go west. A few days of riding, and the woods would grow dryer, eventually giving in to the vast deserts of the Western approach. The closest and best option would be the Free Marches. If he stayed away from Kirkwall and the quite large population of Fereldan refugees from the fifth blight, he could probably pass unnoticed.

Getting to the Free Marches was a different matter. Luckily, Loghain Mac Tir was a man who had always kept escape plans. He had never thought of them as such. They were necessities for a man living his kind of life. Or maybe habits that were hard to kick. Packed saddle bags under his bed (that he could find blindfolded). A stash hidden near Lake Celestine (which he found by counting steps). An old contact in a dalish clan nearby. The saddle bags were the only thing he brought from Montsimmard. The stash (dried meat, a filled purse and a bow) was dug up before sunrise. And then it was the contact. He hoped he would be able to track her. Loghain watched the skies change colour through the green branches and set his course.

He left the darkness he knew so well behind, and brought only what he carried within. That singing, humming darkness which still, after all these years, was somewhat unexplored

 


	2. Champions of the just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is value? What does the concept really mean? Fenris remembered telling Sebastian about the fog warriors. About living life surrounded by nature and a people not restraining their urges or affections. Sebastian did not understand. Spending time with heretic savages? Didn't it make Fenris feel unclean? Fenris did not tell Sebastian it usually were the likes of him that made Fenris feel unclean. Not Sebastian himself, of course, but nobles. Human nobles. A value carved into Fenris’ skin like his tattoos. A value created by a life of cleaning and bowing and scraping."

"Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

- _The Chant of Light: Benedictions 4:10_

 

"I came to the cities in a time of disorder  
When hunger reigned there.  
I came among men in a time of revolt  
And I rebelled with them.  
So passed my time  
Which had been given to me on earth."

\- Bertolt Brecht,  _To those born after_

 

 _Blessed are the peacekeepers_. This was the part he had struggled with the most. Danarius had had the words embroidered in gold, framed and hung on the wall over the slaves dining table. Not that Fenris could read at the time, but he knew what it said. He asked Lyssa, the cook, once and she told him. Lyssa. Born a slave and most likely died as one. Never a harsh word about Danarius or anyone else. Never a harsh look. A life of cleaning and bowing and scraping. And reciting the chant of light as often as she could. Lyssa always adviced Fenris to be calm. To be grateful. To keep the peace. She pointed at her owners framed words and nodded. She said she valued keeping the peace.

What is value? What does the concept really mean? Fenris remembered telling Sebastian about the fog warriors. About living life surrounded by nature and a people not restraining their urges or affections. Sebastian did not understand. Spending time with heretic savages? Didn't it make Fenris feel unclean? Fenris did not tell Sebastian it usually were the likes of him that made Fenris feel unclean. Not Sebastian himself, of course, but nobles. Human nobles. A value carved into Fenris’ skin like his tattoos. A value created by a life of cleaning and bowing and scraping.

Maybe Lyssa had been right. Maybe the wise thing would be staying calm. Being grateful. Forgiving. But people with such traits were usually people like Sebastian. People with titles and family crests. They were not former slaves or hunted fugitives. Fenris refused to believe he lacked the mind or the soul to please the maker. He lacked a title and a fortune. Thus a champion of the just was not necessarily a peacekeeper, he figured. Fenris simply could not afford forgiveness.

“Would you like to share your thoughts, _lethallin_?”

Fenris almost jumped at the soft voice, coming from above and behind. Even at this age keeper Samahl moved swift and soundless. He slowly turned around, stiff and sore, but Samahl placed a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, urging him not to strain himself.

“I was... thinking about an old friend of mine. Lyssa. She was also a slave. I wondered what happened to her.”

“Was she also of the people?”

“She was.”

Samahl gently sat down beside him, starting to examine his bandaged shoulder. He could feel her healing magic starting to hum beneath his skin and tried to relax.

“I feel much better now”, Fenris said. “You should really let me get up. I feel useless, lying here.”

Samahl’s eyes, slanted and gray as steel, traveled along his shoulder, up across his face until they met his gaze.

“That worries you. Feeling useless.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“I want to repay you. I want to help.”

“All things in time. Merril came back today. She brought this for you.” Samahl opened the rugged leather purse tied to her belt and pulled out a letter. Fenris opened it as fast as he could and started reading while Samahl returned to healing his shoulder. He read slowly, tracing the letters with his finger, silently spelling the words out to himself. A smile started pulling the corner of the wounded elfs mouth.

“I assume it is from your friend”, Samahl said. “And that all is well.”

“All is well. I can tell from how she is scolding me. She has also picked a location where I am supposed to meet her.”

“I suppose she has a plan.”

Another statement.

“I'm sure she does. She always does.” Fenris could feel the how Samahl’s magic stopped flowing as she put her hands in her lap.

“You will rest another day and then you can be on your way. You will bring a man on your journey. A _shemlen;_ an old friend of the clan. You will help him and protect him and make sure he travels as far as he wishes. Do this and you will have no further obligations to us.”

Fenris simply nodded. Of course there was always safety in numbers, and he had come to trust Samahl. But a travelling companion meant socializing. And also there was the "help and protect"-part, which likely meant this man would slow him down a great deal. Anyhow, Fenris was in no position to argue. He had a dept to pay.

Samahl stood up and looked at him for a long time, and as always she seemed to see right through him.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, keeper?” he asked.

“Yes, _lethallin_ , there is. I would like you to rethink some of your believes. You think your value is measured in what you do. You think lying here, healing, after being gravely wounded, makes you useless. You feel useless. But I want you to realize that you are valuable because of what you are, not because of what you do.”

With that said Samahl turned around and left, as soft and soundless as she came.

Fenris closed his eyes and listened to the trees, feeling the last humming traces of magic leaving his body. He knew he did not lack value. But he also knew this world made a difference between some and others. Some peoples skin were simply more precious than others. Glowing tattooed elf-skin usually came with a bounty. That's why he always needed to be sure. That's why he always paid his debts. He paid it with muscle and sword and glimmering lyrium skin, not caring the slightest about the growing number of scars across his body. Anyone who dared to scratch or touch without permission got paid tenfold. Fenris knew his value. Fenris knew the Tevinter slave market and all its currencies. He could not afford to forgive.

 


	3. What´s in a name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gauloise leaned back against the counter. A templar and a mage. In times like these. What could this be about? A political alliance? A star-crossed love affair? Then Gauloise once again remembered his mothers words. Stay out of trouble. He sighed, helpless before his late mother, and continued his work."

“There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name.”

― Jeanette Winterson, _Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit_

 

 _Blanchefleur_ was an ordinary orlesian tavern in the ordinary orlesian city Val Foret. It was not particularly large or small. Not to shabby, not to fancy. The short distance to the chantry made it steer clear of thieves and fight pickers, mostly. Every now and then even the templars came by for a drink. Most of them had cleared out now of course. Some conclave in some makerforsaken Ferelden cave.

Not that Jean-Marie Gauloise noticed. For him, for regular people, things were pretty much the same. Gauloise ran the tavern the way his mother had taught him. Discretion for a reasonable price, stay out of trouble and take shit from noone. His business strategy had earned him a good reputation and respect from his regulars. Every now and then people would come and rent a room for business meetings they wanted to keep private, or even stay the night if they wanted to make sure they "never had been seen". Gauloise called them his "incognito guests". Today he expected two of them.

The first entered _Blanchefleur_ in broad daylight, covered in mud and somewhere underneath it all, a rather fine piece of armour and - Gauloise couldn't help noticing - a set of rather fine green eyes. The regulars in the corner noticed as well, but the hazy looks and impertinent comments were efficiently silenced with a look from those fine eyes, dripping with venom. She had the weapons to back it up as well; a sword and a shield adorned with a crest Gauloise did not recognize, rested on her back.

"Maker's blessing", she greated him with a thick accent. What was she? Fereldan? A Marcher?

"And to you, madam."

"I...have room. Leandra." She put gold enough for a week on the counter.

"Of course, madam." Gauloise switched language and her shoulders seemed to drop inches in relief. " Your associate has not arrived yet. Would you like something to eat while you wait? And perhaps... a bath?"

She smiled at him and wiped her brow.

"Thank you. That would be lovely."

Gauloise nodded and waved to one of the tavern maids.

"Yvette here will show you to your room and attend to all your needs."

The second guest took her time, and when she arrived Gauloise understood why. Where the first guest had entered stomping, filling the room with weapons, presence and absolutely no excuses, this one suddenly seemed to appear in a corner, carefully inspecting the clientele. Gauloise caught her eye, and she left the shadows revealing two solemn dark eyes in a pale face - and a mage staff.

"Leandra", she simply said, putting a few golds on the counter. "Will this suffice?"

Gauloise looked at the woman and remembered his mothers words. Discretion for a reasonable price. The other woman (in his mind Gauloise called her "the templar", she simply had to be one, she could not be a _chevalier_ , not with that accent) had payed quite enough, and this one looked like she needed every copper.

"That has been taken care of, madam", he replied. "Room number four. Hold on, I will get a maid to show you..."

"That will not be necessary", the woman interrupted. "Thank you".

She shot him a quick smile and then made her way up the stairs, bowing her head like a battered mabari. Gauloise leaned back against the counter. A templar and a mage. In times like these. What could this be about? A political alliance? A star-crossed love affair? Then Gauloise once again remembered his mothers words. _Stay out of trouble_. He sighed, helpless before his late mother, and continued his work.

 

\---

 

The first knock on the door was so timid Aveline first thought she had imagined it. The second was a little louder. She got up, putting one hand on her dagger the other on the door.

"Who's there?"  
  
"Leandra." The voice was low and sort of...void. Aveline wasn't even sure she recognized it. Was it her? Was it really her? It had been so long. How could Aveline be sure?  
  
"Leandra...who?"  
  
Silence. That could mean just about anything. Mentioning a family name was in no part of the plan. But if that was who it's supposed to be...  
  
"Amell. Leandra Amell." The voice now was clearer,a bit more assured. And so was Aveline. Of the two possible family names Aveline would have accepted the person had picked the one lesser known to the world. Aveline opened the door, and closed it again as soon as the woman had stepped inside. They looked at one another.  
  
"Bethany."  
  
"Aveline."  
  
She even looked void. Just like she sounded, Aveline thought. Like a frail shell. Pale and thin with shadows around those dark eyes that seemed even bigger in her gaunt face. Was she sick?  
Bethany’s eyes met Aveline’s, and the mage shook her head, as if in disbelief.  
  
"Maker, you haven't changed a bit."  
  
The silence that followed revealed that Bethany obviously had. Aveline cursed herself inside her head, but she was simply a terrible liar.  
  
"Sit. Sit down, have a glass of wine and some food. Would you like me to order a bath for you?"  
  
Bethany nodded. She dropped her simple leather sack on the floor with a small thudding sound, revealing it consisted mainly of books, but kept her staff in her hand. Aveline filled a cup with the antivan wine she had ordered and handed it to the mage. Bethany emptied the cup and immediately gave it back for Aveline to refill.  
  
"Alright, Warden. Slow down." Aveline’s voice was warm but commanding. The mother and the guard captain,all in one being. Bethany finally smiled, which melted Aveline’s heart completely and she refilled her mug without further ado.  
  
"You are such a mother", Bethany said as she grabbed three pieces of cheese from the table. She actually managed to put all of them in her mouth which silenced her for a while.  
  
"I am", Aveline admitted. "One son, one daughter, and - of course - a couple of hundred guards."  
  
Bethany made a face as she swallowed the last piece of cheese. After a rather generous sip of wine, she moved on to the ham.  
  
"Yes, I remember when you had the boy. My sister went on and on about hoping you would call him Carver. Did you?"  
  
"I did not. He's called Douglas", Aveline said, pouring herself a cup of wine.  
  
"I see. My sister must be very disappointed." Bethany seemed to cherish the thought.  
  
"She was. Absolutely devastated. Until my daughter was born."  
  
Bethany shook her head in amused disbelief.  
  
"No, you did not! Tell me, you didn't name your daughter Marian, did you?"  
  
Aveline laughed. A deep, warm sound that made Bethany lean forward, widening her eyes, as to put emphasis in to her words, which made Aveline laugh even more. It was such a rare, deliberating feeling. Uncontrolled laughter. She couldn't remember the last time that happened.  
  
"No", Aveline finally replied. "No, I did not name her Marian. I named her Leandra."  
  
Aveline sighed deeply, a content sound after that intense display of emotion, and leaned back. When she met Bethany’s gaze she realized the mage's eyes were tearing.  
  
"That's...very nice. I appreciate it, Aveline. I know mother would have, as well."  
  
Aveline took Bethanys hand and they shared a moment of silence.  
  
"To abscent friends and family," Aveline finally said, breaking the silence and raising her cup, even though her voice doesn't carry as planned.  
  
Bethany toasted her back.  
  
"Family. Be it by blood, by name or by choice."

They ate and drank until Aveline’s stomach hurt (but in a good way) and Bethany was drunk. A deeply rooted feeling of safety and homecoming started to spread inside Aveline, even though she felt a bit worried about the mage. Bethany took her bath and Aveline helped her wash her hair, holding back all comments about how thin her friend was. And later, when the nightmares came, Aveline held Bethany close and sang all the lullabies she knew. She was, after all, such a mother.  
  
  


\---

 

The woods were covered in a sheer silvery mist as Fenris made his way through the camp accompanied by Merril. His old friend was more quiet nowadays, almost stern. He understood why. The Tevinter presence threatened even the dalish. Fenris knew Merril was fond of old elven history and artefacts. Back in Kirkwall she had some old mirror she would spend hours repairing and studying. Fenris didn't know any details, but it seemed the mirror was the reason Merril left her old clan. After the mage rebellion she had brought the mirror to Samahl, a keeper more inclined to Merrils ideals and interests. Samahl took Merril in, and the mirror as well. Until the woods suddenly was crawling with Tevinters, studying every piece of ruin they could find, capturing elves for some "unknown purpose" (these were Samahls words, Fenris knew there was nothing uncertain about the Tevinter slave market). One day Merril came back from an attack where two of her clanmates were captured and simply smashed the mirror. Just like that. A thousand pieces. Unrepairable. Since that day Merril hadn't talked much.

This development didn't bother Fenris at all. He did care about Merril, in spite of their differences. She was obviously crazy, she always had been, but they had known each other for years. Fought side by side, shared laughs and cries and more pots of ale than he could count. But he knew that mirror was trouble. The worst kind of trouble. Blood magic trouble. Also, Merril never used to know when to shut up. No, this development didn't bother him at all.  
  
"There he is." Merril suddenly spoke and pointed towards the edge of the woods. Fenris stopped for a moment, squinted in the direction and then slowly made his way to keeper Samahl and his unknown companion, standing in front of two saddled horses. Fenris first impression was that the man was younger then he had expected. When he closed in he realized the man wasn't really that young at all, simply fit. He was tall with a big bow hung over his broad shoulders . A thick black mane of hair that could have belonged to a man half his age, and piercing blue eyes that Fenris actually had trouble meeting. No, this man would not slow him down. Not at all.

"Goodbye." He realized Merril had stopped and turned around to face her.  
  
"Goodbye Merril. Be safe."  
  
She smiled. A smile that didn't reach her eyes. A faint shadow of the former Merril. Fenris suddenly felt very sad.  
  
"You will give them my regards?" she asked.  
  
"Of course. _Dareth shiral_."  
  
His farewell actually brought out a quick twinkle in Merril's big eyes. Fenris rarely spoke elven. He wasn't dalish and had never felt a connection to the people or their customs. But suddenly he wanted to thank Merril. To show his gratitude. And this was a way, he knew that.

" _Dareth shiral, lethallin_ ", Samahl said in her low, soft voice. "May the dread wolf never catch your scent."  
  
"The same to you, keeper. Thank you for everything."  
  
He watched the elven women walk back to the camp. When he couldn't see them anymore he turned back to face his companion. He looked at Fenris with those piercing eyes and offered his hand. Fenris did not take it.  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't...shake hands. What shall I call you?"  
  
His companion made a face, a sort of "fair enough", and then suddenly looked surprised. Fenris suspected he knew why. He did not ask for his name, not really. He made an offer which was up to his companion to accept or ignore, as he pleased. To reveal his identity or to use a - what did the orlesians call it - _nom de guerre_.  
  
"You may call me...Bryce", his companion answered with a deep, commanding voice and smiled in a smug sort of way Fenris had trouble understanding; like using that name amused his companion.  
  
"Bryce", Fenris replied slowly, sort of tasting the name. He found it ridiculous. Or maybe it was the fact his companion looked so smug about it. Bryce? Who picks a name like that when you can call yourself whatever you like?  
  
"Well then... 'Bryce'..." Fenris let out a muffled snort. "Pardon me. No offense."  
  
Bryce bowed his head in a generous manner.  
  
"Non taken. And what may I call you?"  
  
Fenris cleared his throat and composed himself.  
  
"You can call me Leto", he said.  
  
Bryce nodded.  
  
"Well then...'Leto'..." Bryce pronounced the name like it was a bad piece of cheese, turning foul on the tip of his tongue. Fenris had a hard time telling if he was joking. He was hard to read, with those eyes and that voice pronouncing those words so exquisitly dry and commanding at the same time. Fenris did not like hard to read. And he did not like people making fun of his name, even if he never used it. Least of all he liked realizing he had cornered himself by giving away his real name when Bryce refused to give him his in return. Fenris dropped his smile.  
  
"We are losing time," he said, mounting one of the horses.

 

 


	4. The Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Loghain did have a hard time picturing the elf involved with anyone. He mostly reminded Loghain of a wild animal. A stray dog, or no, a cat. The elf was definitely more of a cat. He had that cat-like ambivalence about him. Like he couldn’t decide whether to bite or snuggle, hiss or purr. Cats were difficult. Loghain had always been a dog person, himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, I really appreciate it!
> 
> I'm taking some liberties with the Orlesian geography, as you will notice. And hang in there, Hawke will appear eventually, but I am really having so much fun letting Loghain and Fenris hang out all by themselves... :)

 

“Men’s hearts holds shadows darker than any tainted creature.”  
  
Flemeth

 

“I never thought that I would find myself In bed amongst the stones

The columns are all men

Begging to crush me

No shapes sail on the dark deep lakes

And no flags wave me home”

— The Cure, _All Cats are Grey_

 

 

After a few days journey, Fenris had to admit to himself he did not completely detest his travelling companion. Bryce, or whatever his name was, rarely spoke. His horses kept a good speed, and he was as capable with his bow as a dalish hunter. Furthermore he didn't even comment on Fenris admitting not knowing how to use a bow. Whereas other people would have dropped their chins ("An elf that can not use a bow? I thought that was innate?"), Bryce simply shrugged. Then he ventured further in to the woods, over his shoulder dryly pointing out he assumed Fenris knew how to make a fire. The trees seemed to devour him; he disappeared without a sound, like a perfect predator. He returned later (which was sooner than Fenris expected) to a lit fire, fed horses and a bottle of Tevinter wine, carrying two fennecs and a nug. The companion held up the latter with one hand while he grabbed the bottle with the second, taking a sip and humming in appreciation.

"I could have sworn these were extinct. Suddenly they seem to be all over Thedas. Not that I mind."

That night Fenris had a meal that he, in his regular mood, would have described as "not horrible".

Fenris could not help but to speculate about Bryce’s past and what had brought him here. His packing was rather odd. It contained the usual belongings of a person travelling the woods and knowing how to (knife, waterskins, tinderbox, a few furs, needle and thread), but also a few things far from necessary; even unpractical for this type of journey. Bryce had brought quite a few books. Fenris caught a glimpse of them when Bryce unpacked his horse. He also carried sword and shield. That did not seem too strange to Fenris. The bow was probably not Bryce’s weapon of choice in combat, simply a hunting tool. No, it was the fact that Bryce was obviously a warrior (and probably a rather good one, considering his age) that caught Fenris’ interest. Last but not least Bryce had brought extra armour, which Fenris noticed when Bryce was unpacking and rearranging his belongings before going to sleep. A glimmer of metal,a flash of colour; a completely different set of armour than the dalish leathers Bryce was wearing. Fenris knew he recognized that particular type of armour. He had seen it somewhere else, he knew what it meant, but he could not recall.

But what mostly made Fenris wonder about Bryce was Bryce himself. Fenris had trouble meeting his companions eyes, especially if they were currently speaking to each other. He had such a presence. Almost like a gravity, surrounding him. Fenris felt heavy when they were physically close. They usually assisted eachother getting in and out of their armour. Bryce also helped Fenris looking after his wounded shoulder. He was all efficiency and obvious experience, not lingering in Fenris presence a moment longer than necessary. But that was enough. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. On the contrary the companion made Fenris feel rather safe. But it was unusual. And demanding, very demanding.

The next day they reached river Deveraux and eventually crossed it, having found a suitable spot. Both men longed for a bath, having spent days in the saddle. Since it was nearly dusk they decided to make camp in a small clearing, and took turnes bathing. Bryce went first. He started undoing his armour, and Fenris made himself busy unpacking, examining the horses legs, just arranging stuff, whatever. He did not want his companion to feel uncomfortable undressing. Not that Bryce seemed to be uncomfortable. Like most men Fenris had encountered Bryce undressed like being naked in another mans presence was the most natural thing in the world. Fenris tried not to look, but it was hard to avoid in that rather cramped space. Like he expected, Bryce had the body of a much younger man. And he was absolutely covered in scars. Some of them made Fenris wonder. Really wonder. Like the big, white and reddish cobweb-looking one that went from his right shoulder all across his chest and abdomen down to his left hipbone. It looked like an injury that must have split him in half, almost. How does one survive something like that? And what kind of enemy causes it?

Fenris didn't ask, of course. That would have been rude. He cleaned up, had some cheese and nuts and started to unpack his bedroll while Bryce was writing something in the light from the camp fire he made. A letter, Fenris presumed. As Bryce went to sleep Fenris took the first watch, pondering the mysteries of his travelling companion.

Fenris passed time during his watch by cleaning and mending his weapons and armour and examining the grenades Samahl had given them with careful curiousity. His old spike-covered set of armour had eventually more or less fallen to pieces, and had - after Hawke convinced him - been replaced with Orlesian armour in drakestone and bronto hide. He even wore boots sometimes, also mostly because Hawke had told him to. "You stand out enough as it is; white hair and lyrium tattoos. Do we really need to add 'barefoot and spikey armour' to that mix?" She had been right, of course. As she usually (but not always, Fenris persisted) was.

As Fenris work was almost done his companion slowly freed himself from the great bear fur, and, completely silent - without any yawning or any other waking up-sound, got up. First he sat, legs completely straight, which Fenris thought look weird but couldn't really pin point why until hours later; only children sat like that, soft and bendy children lacking the aching backs of aging. Then he spoke. But it wasn't speech, not really. A low, humming sound, which seemed to start deep in Bryces throat or even chest. Wordless, a song without a melody, but with a distinct rythm. If Fenris had had any hair on the back of his neck, it would have stood up.

"Bryce? Are you alright?"

Bryce stopped humming. But he did not answer. And he did not move. Of course, he wouldn't, Fenris thought to himself. Bryce was not even his real name, why would he respond to that? He kept sitting in that strange position, seemingly staring in to the woods. What was he looking at? Fenris could not tell from where he was sitting. The small fire only offered a weak, gently flickering light, and Bryce’s face was covered with shadows. Then the noise started again. It was so deep, deeper than Bryces regular voice, which all by itself was, like Fenris´own voice, an impressive bass. Deep, vibrating, with that strangely sort of irregular but at the same time distinct rhythm. Deeper than Fenris would have guessed was possible for human vocal chords. Was it possible?

Fenris stood up. Slowly he walked around the fire. Gently, silently. He realized he was actually tip toeing. He didn't really know why. As Fenris reached Bryce’s bedroll and squatted down beside him, he saw that Bryce’s eyes were still closed. Was he still asleep?

"Bryce?" Fenris’ voice was a rough shadow, tense, and he cleared his throat. "Bryce? Can you hear me?"

Bryce fell silent again, like Fenris had interrupted whatever it was he was doing. He sat there, legs straight, back straight and eyes - Fenris now noticed - rolling in their sockets behind close lids. Fenris started to consider touching him. Patting, shaking, whatever. Physical contact did not come easily for Fenris. Not only because of the pain that often followed, caused by his lyrium tattoos. His own restrictions had over the years made him highly aware of other peoples possible boundarys in that particular area. Fenris never wanted to make another person uncomfortable by invading their personal space. But now it seemed like he had to.

Slowly Fenris reached out for Bryce’s shoulder. He reached it. He grabbed it. He was just about to speak. Another "are you alright?" or simply "wake up!". When Bryce opened his eyes. The icey blue orbs were completely empty. Shut, somehow. Bryce lips parted. For a moment his chin seemed to dangle, loose. Then he exhaled in a slow long, hissing way that eventually passed on in to that humming sound. Fenris felt Bryce’s taut, muscular shoulder vibrating under his fingers. It seemed to spread, through him. Then he felt it through his bare feet. The ground was vibrating. Bryce made the ground vibrate. The thought chilled Fenris to the bone. That noise, that rhythm, the repeating. Like a ritual. Magic. Ancient, deep and dark. Spreading. It was like Bryce was communicating. Calling. Fenris started trembling. The ground was trembling. _Andraste I am going crazy he is calling for something help me wake up please wake up_.

Fenris did not stop shaking Bryce’s shoulder until he, swearing and dazed in his newly awakened state, wrestled the elf to the ground.

—  
  
_Those nights. Those last makerforsaken nights. You followed her through the city like a hungry animal and the stench was everywhere. Blended with smoke and fire. It clinged to the cracking buildings, to your sticky sheets. Hurt your eyes, itched on your skin. In your breath, in your veins. Such things are made up in order to scare children. Children’s stories. How can this be, you thought. Turning in to darkness in order to defeat it._  
  
—

 

"I have nightmares".

They had stopped for a quick meal by a small stream, mostly because the horses needed water and a short rest.

"You don't say." The elf’s voice was a low growl, overflowing with irony. Loghain didn't blame him.

"I should have warned you. It has been a long time since I spent the night with someone who did not know me well."

The elf seemed to tense up at those words. Loghain felt his gaze upon him as he finished his dried meat. He was watching him like he waited for something more. Like what Loghain just had said didn't make sense to him. You did it again, Loghain. Maker, did he? Put words together sounding like euphemisms when he met nothing of the sort? Someone had once told him she enjoyed that about him. But that was a long time ago. Surely the elf couldn't have misunderstood him? Elves ages were always hard to guess, but Loghain was sure he was old enough to be his father. _That hasn't stopped you before_. Oh, be quiet, you.

He was an odd sort, the elf. Those tattoos resembled nothing Loghain had ever seen, and he had seen a few things in his days. They were not _vallaslin_ ; Loghain was quite sure of that. No, the elf was not dalish. He could not use a bow, and his elvish pronounciation was almost worse than Loghain’s. So, a city elf, probably brought up in some stinking alienage somewhere, poor boy. Maybe a sellsword. The axe he carried, an the way he carried it, spoke of skill, which made Loghain rest a little easier. He did trust Samahl. When she said she would lend him a couple of hands he knew it wouldn't be a waste, but most of her clan were simply hunters. And there is a big difference between hunting and combat. Not that Loghain and the elf had been under any threat so far, but one could never know. Not in these times. And not after what Loghain had done. _The traitor teyrn_. You can not think about that now, Loghain, he thought to himself.

He started packing, determined to clear his head.

"So. We should arrive in a couple of days, right?"

"Right."

The elf had told Loghain he was meeting a friend in Deveraux; a small city with a big port near where river Celestine met the Waking Sea. It suited Loghain fine. He could continue along the coast. Naturally a port meant ships, but that was probably not a good idea. Any ship bound for the Free Marches was most likely heading for Kirkwall, and Kirkwall meant Fereldans. A Marcher-ship might even mean Fereldan sailors. No, not an option. Anyway, when they came to Deveraux he and the elf should part ways. Loghain had told him so, and the elf did not protest. Of course he didn't. He was a man clearly capable of handling himself. Also, Loghain suspected this friend was more than that. He had seen the elf reading a letter over and over again, wearing an unmistakable smile. They probably had some catching up to do.

Loghain did have a hard time picturing the elf involved with anyone. He mostly reminded Loghain of a wild animal. A stray dog, or no, a cat. The elf was definitely more of a cat. He had that cat-like ambivalence about him. Like he couldn’t decide whether to bite or snuggle, hiss or purr. Cats were difficult. Loghain had always been a dog person, himself.

"So," the elf said, mounting his horse. "Am I to suspect the same charade tonight?"

Loghain pondered this for a while, fastening the saddle bags.

"I wouldn't know. I lack the ability to foresee any possible nightmares."

The elf grunted.

"Nightmares. More like...I don't know, sleep walking. Or it could probably turn into that, anyway."

Loghain shrugged. Clearly the elf didn't want to solve the problem. He wanted an argument. Loghain mounted and rode up to him, letting his icey gaze meet the elf’s.

"I suppose you could always tie me up."

The elf’s eyes widened. Then he snorted and turned his horse around. _You did it again, Loghain_. I told you to be quiet, Loghain thought to himself. Or rather, to that voice in his head. The teasing alto with that unmistakable Highever-accent.

 

 


	5. No man is an island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "While others lost themselves in battle; in the fear or the mere thrill of it all, Bethany always went through seemingly untouched. Most warriors she had met seemed to relish the fight, at least letting the adrenaline run its course. Even the more idealistic peacekeeping ones seldom went through battles without losing their heads just a little. But Bethany had never been touched by violence like that. She had never felt that thrill, that boost, that feeling of being immortal or invincible. She had gotten used to killing. That's all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another "on the road"- chapter. Almost there, I promise. Also, this chapter includes a bit of violence.

“My food I ate between battles  
To sleep I lay down among murderers  
Love I practised carelessly  
And nature I looked at without patience.  
So passed my time  
Which had been given to me on earth.”  
  
\- Bertolt Brecht, _To those born later_

  
Bethany had lost so many. Her father. Her brother. Her mother. And as a warden, several friends - her grey siblings. The Joining tore her away from a life she thought might have been possible. Possible even for her, a mage. It probably wasn't. Come to think of it, a mage never have that possibility. She lost everything the first time she showed signs of magic.

Over the years she had watched people meet and reach out for each other. They touched, connected, braided their fingers together, and their lives. They grew ties and roots. Sometimes carefully and slow, other times lashing out, violently. To her everybody seemed to have something - someone - holding them back, catching them if they fell, someone they depended on or someone who depended on them. She alone lacked connections, bridges, like an uninhabited, isolated island.

She had passed doors and contemplated knocking. She had begun writing letters she never finished. Her fortress would stay empty, clean and guarded. Her fortress - a mortuary.

Bethany did not lack the ability to love, far from it. But whenever she approached someone she did it with her guard up. She made escape plans and pictured worst case scenarios, watched the people around her letting in and letting go with something scraping inside, scratching the chambers of her heart. Phantom pains.

It wasn't somehing she thought about often, but when she met people living lives completely different from hers, it was hard not to. Avelines life was nothing like Bethanys. She had a husband and two children. A job that was probably demanding, but Bethany knew she loved it. The way she had comforted Bethany during the night. Noone could do such a thing without being safe, feeling safe. Noone could give so freely without knowing she would get it back, and more, in return. Bethany envied her. Even now, as they rode south on empty paths along the river, hiding from the rest of the world, Avelines back was so straight. Her head held high. She had a posture of a person knowing her value inside and out. The posture of someone who could sleep at night.

After several days on horseback, and almost as many nights under clear starry skies, their journey was about to end. They were supposed to meet Marian in Deveraux. After that, Bethany didn't know. She knew her sister and Fenris stayed in some small orlesian village, but according to Aveline that might not be the case anymore. There were no more details that that. Possible trouble. Marian Hawke and possible trouble. Nothing new under the sun.

They had stopped for a short rest when Bethany heard voices further down the path. Her eyes met Avelines. The guard captain nodded towards the big tree behind her. Bethany grabbed her staff and, as quickly as she could, slipped around the tree and laid down in the high grass. For a while Bethany heard nothing but her breath and her own pounding heartbeat. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, but she felt cold. Nowadays she always felt cold. The voices approached, she could make out atleast two of them. Branches snapping under their horses. Then silence.

"Identify yourself!" The voice was raw. And probably Fereldan.

"Aveline Hendyr, captain of the Kirkwall city guard", Aveline stated with her leadership-voice. Bethany silently pounded her forhead against the soft, black, earthy ground. Was it one thing Aveline would really benefit from learning, it was lying.

"And what is a Kirkwallian guard captain doing in Orlais with two saddled horses?"

"I have been visiting family. Brought an extra horse so I could travel faster, one resting while I ride the other." Bethany made a face. Quick thinking, Aveline. That actually sounded believable.

"And who asks?" Aveline continued. "By what authority are you questioning me?"

"Morgan Hale, leader of the Mad Mabari mercenaries. Acting on behalf of warden commander Clarel. We are looking for a missing Warden. A deserter. Have you met anyone on the road?"

Bethany's mouth went dry. She held her breath.

"Down this path, I have not", Aveline stated. "What does this warden look like?"

"Tall, dark. Carrying a few books, stolen. Probably sleep deprived." The raw voice made a harsh, muffled sound that most likely was meant to be a laugh. "I suppose you're going to Deveraux. If you see anything suspicious, talk to the harbour watch."

"I will. Good luck to you." Bethany slowly exhaled.

"Boss, I need to take a piss." Another voice, female. Bethany clenched her jaw.

"Alright, but make it quick."

"I wouldn't go down there", Aveline said. "Very slippery, close to the river."

An uncomfortable silence spread around the small clearing.

"Really", Hale said slowly, his voice turned slow and oily with suspicion. "When you put it like that, I think I need to take apiss myself."

Bethany heard footsteps approaching. She slowly crouched up to a position somewhere between lying down and squatting. Like a threatened animal. The gripp on her staff so tight her knuckles whitened. Then came a soft thumping sound. Then a scream, "Get heeeer!", followed by the rattling sound of swords and armour.

Bethany jumped to her feet and ran towards the sound. One of the mercenaries, most likely the woman she had heard, was lying unconscious on the ground. Avelines shield met the greatsword of a large, balding man. Probably Hale. Two other mercenaries were approaching, their faces still surprised by the unexpected turn of events. She struck them down with lightning bolts, making the clearing flash with purple and white light, the deafening noise bouncing between the trees.

While others lost themselves in battle; in the fear or the mere thrill of it all, Bethany always went through seemingly untouched. Most warriors she had met seemed to relish the fight, at least letting the adrenaline run its course. Even the more idealistic peacekeeping ones seldom went through battles without losing their heads just a little. But Bethany had never been touched by violence like that. She had never felt that thrill, that boost, that feeling of being immortal or invincible. She had gotten used to killing. That's all. And now she sliced through the mercenaries with staff and a dagger without even a twitch in her eyes.

Bethany and Aveline made short work of the mercenaries without any injuries to speak of. Avelines shoulder got dislocated in the process, but that was nothing Bethany couldn't fix. She pushed it back in its place, ignoring Aveline's moaning and then silently cut the mercenaries throats, just to be sure, without flinching. Together they dragged them of the path and hid them, best as they could. There was no time for digging graves, and they had no shovels. Aveline did not protest when Bethany searched their bodies, making sure she found every last copper. And their orders, carried by Hale.

She read them. Then she read them again in disbelief.

"Aveline, you should see this."

"What? We really need to get away from this place, Bethany."

"I know. But..." The mage handed the papers to the guard captain. Aveline read and frowned.

"They were not looking for you. They were looking for..."

The two women stood silent, just looking at each other, until Bethany shook her head as if waking up from a dream.

"It doesn't matter now. As you said, we really need to leave."

And so they did, driving their horses into a fast, desperate gallop, putting distance between themselves and the bloody, coldening fragments of the Mad Mabaris.

 

\---

 

During the day Loghain kept the dark music at bay. It was always present, though. Like those small wounds in your mouth you can't help but poking with your tongue. Like your heartbeat, steadily going during the elsewhere occupied days, but seemingly filling your head when you put your head on the pillow.

He wasn't afraid of the dark. Not even the darkness coming from inside, blurring out his vision and gripping his insides with anger. Darkness had never been an abyss he fell in to, helplessly. Whenever he succombed to it, darkness was a natural safety, cuddling up between his chest and his breastplate. It had always lead him home.

Loghain was not going to treat this darkness any different. The taint should be regarded a tool, nothing else. He felt it scratching his insides, contained by his ribcage for now. What would happen when the beast finally escaped, Loghain did not know. But until then he intended to ride it.

They rode through the hilly landscape of the Heartlands. Up and down, between the rivers of Deveraux and Celsestine. As they reached a plateau, offering a view of another lush, green valley, Loghain felt the beast twitch. Something was near. Something was here.

He signed the elf to stop, and he did, a confused frown on his face. Loghain shut his eyes. Pinched them together into small, wrinkled chinks, as he tried to follow the beasts movements. Tried to cut it some slack. Then they both heard voices, coming from the valley below.

They dismounted. They lead their horses closer; closer than was wise, until they could count the voices and make out some words. Which were in Tevene. And when they looked at each other Loghain for the first time in years felt his beast connect with another one, taint or no.

The first grenade landed right behind one of the barricades, sending splinters and boards all over the camp, in a cloud of dust and blood. Silence followed. Until the second landed further in, exploding between two guards, sending them to the ground screaming. Then it was all the ever familiar chaos of battle and death and blood pumping in veins and wounds, and the enemies battle cries; " _Venatori!_ ", eventually changing in to cries for mercy, cries of agony. In vain.

The elf roared as he ran in to camp, while Loghain stayed put with his bow. He focused on the archers and mages, while the elf cut through the approaching soldiers. Loghain moved, avoiding enemy arrows, falling in to a steady, familiar pace. His arms worked quick togeteher - arrow, aim, fire, new arrow - as so many times before. His legs, slightly bent in the knees, lead him on to the enemies flank, having them caught between the elfs axe and his arrows. Sweat trickled down his face and he could hear himself growl as the beast rattled it's chains and his dark blood pounded in his head, at the back of his eyes, wanting to let loose and overflow his vision.

Just a little longer, he tried to calm the roaring storms in his chest, as he closed in on the mages. Arrow, aim, fire - here we are. Loghgain dropped his bow and grabbed his sword and shield as he plunged in to the dark, primal abyss.

 

\---

 

Afterwards they would search the bodies. Later they would venture down in the ancient temple, hearts pounding - Fenris' with anger, Loghain's with tainted blood responding to what waited even further down. They would find the ruins glimmering with that red something, oozing of wrongness.

Afterwards. Later.

But the moments after the battle; when Fenris had cracked the last mage's skull open, blood and brain gushing over his hands, and Loghain had opened the last remaining soldier from crotch to mouth, they simply looked at eachother. Catching their breathes, slowly walking towards another - Fenris rubbing his sore shoulder, Loghain shaking under the throbbing within, screaming of what swarmed beneath their feet.

As many soldiers before them, making ties by walking the thin line between life and death, something connected right there and then. Soon they would carry on, below; finding the purpose of this particular enemy presence, killing spiders and hurlocks, sealing that ancient cave off. But right now they were just looking at eachother, mirroring. And then Fenris wiped the blood of his split lip and smeared it across Loghains mouth, like a baptism; a bridge built between two islands, even if the foundation was ever so dark and stormy, even if the islands were stubborn, barren and cold.

And the strangest thing was that Loghain let him.

 


	6. The Hunters and the Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally our ragtag team of adventurers reach their rendezvous point! But how will certain characters respond to Fenris' "companion"? *dun dun suspenseful music*
> 
> Also - this chapter contains some violence, as well. 
> 
> Thank you for tagging along! Please drop a comment, I really appreciate it!

“All roads led into the mire in my time.  
My tongue betrayed me to the butchers.  
There was little I could do. But those in power  
Sat safer without me: that was my hope.  
So passed my time  
Which had been given to me on earth.”

— Bertolt Brecht, _To those born after_

 

"Is it fate or chance? I can never decide."

— Flemeth

 

 

Fenris and his companion reached Deveraux under heavy skies and increasing winds, promising rain and maybe more. In the distance they could hear thunder roaring and rumbling about the coastline. The inn-kepper at _La Siréne_ , where they were supposed to meet Hawke, reassured them that the thunder had been wandering about for quite sometime. It might not come any closer.

They rented a room and had their supper there, away from any prying eyes. Deveraux did seem to be a typical port, a swarm of different kinds of people from all over Thedas. It had been a long time since Fenris found himself in a city where more or less nobody gave him funny looks. But they couldn't be to sure.

Darkness fell over Deveraux; making the distant flashes shine brighter. Fenris opened the shutters and let the salty,fresh sea air in to their small, but clean and tidy, room. The companion gave a few letters to an errand boy, and a couple of silvers to go with it. Fenris noticed he sealed both letters twice, writing different names on each front. Probably sending each letter to somebody supposed to forward it to its rightful reader.

A young woman delivered their meal; shellfish, bread and a thick nug-stew seasoned with herbs. She gave them both warm smiles (a bit too warm for Fenris' taste) and told them their baths were ready, further down the hall. They took turns, bathing. The companion went first, while Fenris was still eating and enjoying a bottle of Antivan wine (not exactly Tevene, but still good). Fenris did not mind. He hated eating in company. It made him feel self conscious about his (lack of) table manners.

Bryce returned, his black hair a wet shiny helmet, smelling of tar soap.

"Are you sure you will manage? With your shoulder?" he asked.

"I will. But if you don't mind, maybe you could take a look at it later."

Bryce nodded. And he did.

"So, your friend will come here, I suppose?" Bryce asked, as he cleaned Fenris' wound. It had split open - just a little bit, but still - during their fight at that ruin. It did not look to bad, though.

"She will."

"She's not just a friend, is she?" Bryce asked as he reached for needle and thread. "I need to put a few stitches in this."

It could have been an impertinent question, but it didn't feel impertinent. Bryce didn't pronounce it in an impertinent way. Certain people just had that thing about them, Fenris thought to himself. A way of pronouncing things, delivering them, that just made whatever they said reasonable. That made you want to oblige them. Obey them.  And somehow, Fenris had lowered his guard.

"Do what you must. And no, she is not. And I presume the person you write those long letters to is not 'just a friend', either."

Bryce snorted.

"'Persons', actually. One is my daughter. The other is...no, not 'just a friend'." The companion held the needle in the flame of a candle light for a moment, then inserted the recently washed and - with some strangely smelling liquer, probably Qunary, he had brought - sterilized thread. "This will hurt a little. But I'm sure you're used to it."

Fenris merely grunted, and clenched his jaw when the needle penetrated his skin. He was still thankful for it. The pain made Bryce's presence less..present. That heavy gravity less forceful. Bryce gently touched his bruised arm.

"Did you get these in the fight as well?"

"No...I got them from you. That night...when you had the nightmares." Fenris could feel how Bryce froze. His warm breath tickled Fenris' neck.

"I’m sorry."

"No harm done."

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fact that something had developed between them during the last couple of days. Trust. Fenris thought it was trust, atleast. That kind created by shedding blood together. It was not like he thought they were friends or something, heavens no! With Fenris’ thick skin such things took a long time. But he remembered that look they shared before the battle. And then - the actual battle. It made him less aware of "shoulds" and boundaries.

"Speaking of scars and bruises. Where did you get that big one? The one on your chest?"

Bryce was finished sewing. He gently started to put on a clean bandage.

"Oh, that one. It was...a dragon."

Fenris nodded. That seemed reasonable.

"I fought a dragon myself, once."

He could feel Bryce smiling, a gush of warmth on his skin, as he secured the bandage and gently patted Fenris' shoulder in order to tell him he was done.

"Not like this one, I believe."

That sort of comment probably would have made Fenris furious just a few days ago. But now it didn't. The elf started to feel comfortably drunk. He did enjoy Bryce's company. And if this was their last night together, why not make the best of it.

"If you say so", Fenris replied, simply, reaching for the wine bottle. He refilled Bryce's cup and then his own. As he offered Bryce his drink their fingertips met.

“So, did you get what those Vints were shouting back there?” Bryce asked.

“ _Venatori_ ”, Fenris replied. “It means _hunters_.”

“You speak Tevene?”

“I _am_ Tevene. Or I used to be.”

Bryce gave no vocal respond to that, but Fenris could almost hear how the pieces fell into place in his head.

“You didn’t seem to like them either”, Fenris said, breaking the short silence.

“I don’t.”

“And why is that?”

Bryce snorted.

“I have a problem with foreign armed forces parading around a country they have no right to. Could easily turn into an occupation. Not to mention blood magic. One might say…that is why I’m here today, in this situation.”

Fenris’ eyes widened.

“You and me both, then. I am...grateful for your company", Fenris eventually said, lifting his cup in a toast. "Especially back there. I wish you luck in the future."

Bryce lifted his cup. His face was stern, but his blue eyes glimmered with, what Fenris now had learned to recognize, warmth.

"Luck be to you, as well."

Their eyes met over the cups as they drank. Fenris allowed the wine to losen him up even more. He realized, after a few drinks he had no trouble meeting Bryce’s gaze. Not at all. Bryce suddenly tensed.

"I forgot my razor in the bathroom. I'll be right back."

He got up and left the room, and Fenris' once again wondered how such a large man could be so flexible, as he leaned back and finished his meal, scraping up the stew with the bread, licking his fingers in satisfaction.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes..."

Fenris almost dropped his bowl. The familiar voice came from the window. Two leather clad arms rested on the ledge. Above them he could make out a pair of just as familiar sparkling blue eyes and a few strands of black hair.

"Maker’s breath, Hawke! Sneak up on people, much?" He walked over to the window and lended the rogue a hand. "What's wrong with the front door?"

"Oh, nothing at all", Hawke said as she entered the room.

She didn’t let go of Fenris’ hand, instead she pulled him into her arms and kissed him. First the corner of his mouth, then his lower lip, upper lip. He could feel his frown melt away under her kiss. With a reluctant sigh he parted his lips and let her win him over. Again. Like she always did, always would. Hawke.

"However”, Hawke continued, her lips brushing his chin, “there's a rather large group of Vints downstairs. Mages too, from what I could tell."

Fenris froze.

" _Fasta vass_." He reached for his axe.

"My thought, exactly. And the reason why I kissed you first and told you second. I might be your first lady, but alas - against Tevinter mages, I stand no chance. We should probably leave right about recently."

"Not before I have ripped their hearts out."

"Not this time, Fenris. There are larger things at stake, here. And they outnumber us by far. Let's just leave."

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment.

"Alright, let's go", he said, grabbing his belongings and heading for the window. Hawke was already on her way, hanging from the ledge, searching for that jutted out brick she used to climb the wall.

"Dammit! Bryce!" Fenris suddenly muttered. "Hawke, wait."

"Who the void is Bryce? And why should you chose to tell me about him when I'm dangling from a window?"

Fenris let out a grunt.

"Long story short. The Dalish who took me in told me to make sure he got away from the woods safely. Like payment. We were supposed to part ways here, but if there are Vints around..."

He looked at Hawke, begging.

"He is a good fighter, and he's definitely not on their side", Fenris continued, pleading. It seemed like he was trying to convince himself just as much as Hawke.

"Alright. Bring him. But for the love of Andraste, make haste!" Hawke let go of the ledge and reached the ground with a thud and a groan.

Fenris didn't need to strain himself. Just as Hawke landed, the door opened and Bryce entered the room.

"Vints. Downstairs." Fenris threw his leather sack out the window (which caused a muffled "ouch", from below) and fastened his axe on his back. "Come with us!"

Bryce seemed to hesitate.

"Are you sure?"

"Dammit, Bryce, or whatever your name is! I made a promise concerning your safety, let's just leave already!"

Fenris reached for Bryce's saddle bags and threw them out as well. That seemed to settle the matter for Bryce, and in a moment the two men climbed out the window.

They landed in a tumble of arms, legs and belongings. Hawke was waiting under a tree nearby, Fenris' sack on her back. She took a long look at Bryce, frowning, but didn't say anything. Instead she turned around and started walking in a quick, but not too quick, pace towards the docks. Fenris and Bryce followed in silence. A neck-tensing, looking-over-ones-shoulder kind of silence that made Fenris' head throb. He clenched his fists and focused on the weight on his back; the reassuring feeling of his axe. Sneaking away like a thief in the night when there were Vints about! That might be a Hawke-thing to do, but it was certainly not a Fenris-thing!

Hawke lead the way through crowds of sailors and merchants. Fenris could smell perfume and sweat, fish and roasted almonds. It reminded him of Kirkwall, and late nights outside the Qunari camp. Following Hawke, because he had never known anything else but how to follow. Promises of adventure, glimpses of a dangerous, magnificent big world that seemed to be just around the corner; telling you everything was possible. Freedom, a mansion in Hightown, the love of a strong, independent woman. Even for a former slave. A bittersweet smell.

"We are being followed", Bryce said, and Fenris had to force himself not to look back. They started running. Hawke guided them towards a big sailing ship. The deck was empty, besides a young woman, dressed in a simple blue wrap tunic and leather breeches. She nodded at Hawke.

"Welcome back."

"Thanks, two things; first - how's your watch? Second - we got Vints incoming!" Hawke muttered as she ran across the gangway. Fenris and Bryced followed.

"Finished by now. And - good that we're leaving immediately, then. All aboard!"

When they turned around they saw their followers. Ten, maybe fifteen mages, that now were running and shouting in Tevene; noticing their escape attempt.

"All aboard! All hands on deck!" Another familiar womans voice shouted from the stern. Somebody obviously in charge; the captain. Fenris smiled. Of course, he should have known. Then the ship suddenly crawled with sailors, orders were shouted, lines thrown and hauled; but all of that seemed to fade away, a myriad of peripherial sounds and impression, as Fenris drew his axe and the Venatori attacked.

First there was nothing but the sizzling sound of magic filling the air. Then the freezing cold attacked his body. A snapping sound and one, then two arrows, flew from behind him, hitting one mage in the eye and another in the throat. Fenris snapped out of the cold, lunged forward with a roar and swinged his axe in a large circular motion, knocking and crushing everything in its way. The mages screamed, the blood hit him in splashes and gushes, and he saw Hawke in the corner of his eyes, slitting throats and hamstrings. And then his whole world was on fire.

Slowly, way too slow, the ship left the dock, as Fenris managed to rip his burning shirt of his body. Some of the Venatori simply jumped and boarded the ships. Others stayed put, releasing their forces upon the vessel. Aveline - where did she come from? - smashed a mage over her jaw and probably dislocated it. Bryce kept sending arrows at the mages on the shore, punched a Venatori in the face, then continued. Hawke stabbed her venom-dripping daggers high and low. The sailors worked hard and fast, seemingly not thrown by the ruckus at all, sometimes pushing a mage that came in their way, or throwing another into the water. Hawke's leg was on fire, as were some of the lines and soon a sail.

"That's my ship, you has-been's!" the captain shouted,as she kicked a Venatori down a ladder. "Don't make me take off my hat!"

With a wet, thick sound Hawke cut the throat of the last Venatori, and she fell to the ground with a thump. An absolute silence spread over the ship. The sails clattered, the water splashed against the hull, the air reeked of seaweed and blood. Hawke wiped her daggers on the mage's robe. Fenris lowered his axe. His companion let out a long sigh.

"I presume..."

_Smack!_

Aveline's fist came seemingly out of nowhere, landed on Bryce's lower lip, throwing his head towards his right shoulder and sent him stumbling backwards until he hit the main mast and dropped to the deck.

"Aveline, what's wrong with you?!" Fenris' yelled. "That's Bryce, he's on our side!"

Bethany stepped out of the shadows.

"That is Loghain Mac Tir", she said. "That is the man who betrayed Ferelden, who is responsible for king Cailans death and for the destruction of Lothering. And now he's also a deserter, from the Grey Wardens."

Fenris felt his jaw drop. He noticed Hawke's did the same.

"That felt good", Aveline said, clenching her fists and rolling her shoulders like she just warmed up and now was ready for more. "Been waiting to do that for a decade, or so."

Fenris still couldn't find a single word to say. Hawke was opening and closening her mouth like a fish, obviously experiencing the same feeling.

"I figured...introductions were in order...," the companion - Bryce - Loghain - whoever - moaned, wiping the blood of his lips. "Thank you..."

"You're welcome...brother", Bethany said, a crooked smile playing on her pale face.

"This is all very Fereldan...” the captain’s voice lamented from the stern, as she started walking towards them. “I am Isabela. You can call me captain for now, but I am indeed an admiral of Rivain." Isabela wore a ridiculously big hat. She smiled at Loghain, greeting him with a theatrical bow.

"My pleasure", he groaned.

Fenris felt his lack of words turning into anger. He felt betrayed. Since he couldn't seem to get any control over his tongue, or his brain, he simply walked over to What's-his-face and kicked his thigh.

"Maker's breath, why did you do that for?" his companion muttered.

"You lied to me!" Fenris grunted, between clenched teeth.

"Oh, I lied? Like you ever thought 'Bryce' was my real name? Like 'Leto' is yours?" He still pronounced the name like it was garbage rolling of his tongue.

Fenris growled. Hawke blinked, as she seemed to snap out of her light shock.

"Actually, that is his real name", she said. "But you won't find a living soul calling him that anymore."

Loghain rubbed his thigh. And his jaw.

"Oh", he simply replied, looking confused,as Isabela came to his rescue, placing herself between him and Fenris.

"Come now! On this ship, I am the law and you are my guests; all of you. I will have no fights. Unless they are proper duels. With bets. And refreshments. Do you hear me, big girl?" Isabela said turning to Aveline.

Aveline shrugged.

"Not a problem. Haven't felt this calm for ten years."

"What about you, lanky?" Isabela asked Fenris.

"Whatever”, Fenris snarled. “Bryce...Whoever calls himself 'Bryce', anyway..."

"There is food and wine in my cabin," Isabela continued. "Let’s all just go down below and sort this mess out. Did you loot the bodies?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what is an epic tale without a little slapstick, right?
> 
> I really do love Loghain, he's one of my favourite DA-characters, but I just had to let Aveline go at it. It had to be done. ;)  
> Also, because of Hawke's connection to Ostagar and Lothering, I really had a problem seeing Loghain and Hawke meeting up, and Hawke saying anything but "OK, you're an idiot, gtfo", so I needed to push them into a space where they couldn't escape eachother. Luckily, a friend of Hawke's really likes big boats.
> 
> The next update might take a few days, because reasons (life). But hang in there, I'll be back asap!


	7. Hearts of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback from Loghains perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: this chapter contains a bit of smut.

"Now we will begin the dance."  
― George R. R. Martin, _A Game of Thrones_

 

_You had danced with her at her brother's wedding. Her eyes as steady as her shield arm. Since she had troubles following your lead, and you wouldn't let her take charge, you struggled. Afterwards you escorted her back to her mother, thanking them both properly. Highever castle eventually grew silent and empty. The music stopped. Your dance, however, would continue for years to come._

_Ostagar had been a surprise. Her obvious contempt for the kings naivïte. The short visit she made to your tent; like the battle was a social gathering and she had to pay her respect. Her eyes, more and more stripped of the innocence they used to carry. And the news about her family. Which actually had been a surprise to you, even if it would take years for you to convince her of the matter. Still, the biggest surprise was her survival. It made you furious._

_The following year was filled with bold steps and escalating rhythms. She had moves you had never seen. No respect for rules or regulations. You tried to lead but she outmanouvered you. Turned the tables. Escaped attempted assassinations and diminshed your allies by returning the favour. She had that fearlessness of youth about her. You knew it well. Once it had been yours._

_At the Landsmeet you set out to crush her, if not by politics then by force. You aimed for her weakest point; the royal bastard, planning to cut through him like he was hot butter. She simply refused, smiling at you with eyes seeming improperly inviting;_ I believe this dance is mine.

_To cut a long story short, it definitely was._

_She had the same strengths. Eyes as steady as her shield arm and good rhythm. Never flinched. Lead better than she followed, but since you wouldn't let her take charge, you struggled. Once she had you pressed up against the wall, your warm, gasping breaths digging into one another, limbs trembling under the suspenion. That smile was still on her face, which really made you furious._

_In the long run she outdanced you. You bent the knee, holding back your anger, waiting for the inevitable. Once again, she escaped you. Surprised you. Found another way for retribution. And when you awoke you found something stirring inside. Something dark and helplessly connected to her._

_Darkness had never frightened you. Not even the darkness within. But this was a new darkness; a living, shifting being. Later you would start referring to it as "the beast", because that was simply how it felt, rattling its chains, slowly eating away at your heart. At everything you had considered human. For every beat your heart needed to pump your blackening blood through your veins, there was a faint echo. Her heart following your rhythm. And so you set out on another quest, exploring the new depths inside you, the new paths that ventured into hers._

_There was, of course, more to her then young recklessness. A talent for leadership and creative solutions. A gentleness when she held a pen or a cup, as if her usual brashness and physical strength - which was rather impressive - threatened to break them. A quiet laugh that started deep in her chest and made its way to your own through that strange, inner connection, stirring things you hadn't felt in years._

_She was self conscious about her freckles. She loved mabaris, same as you. She had an endearing frown which would always appear whenever she felt attacked (like when she realized you were convinced she had had intimate relations with the bastard - now your son-in-law - Maker preserve us - which she never had). And whenever she left the room she would put out the lights. Why would you need any if she wasn't present? And what was the darkness of empty rooms compared to the darkness you carried inside._

_Above all she had the talent of making you angry. Forgetting that leash you had kept on your emotions for a long time. And you didn't want to think about what that meant. What that could mean._

_You returned to Ostagar, retrieving the body of a dead king and documents that turned your paranoia into truth. Your anger and her resentment chased eachother in a badly restrained hunt, as you returned north and the snow transformed into cold rain, until you couldn't hold back your anger anymore._

_Your first proper fight was ugly and drenched in cold damp, that seemed to soak every part off your clothing, and left your skin raw and exposed under her eyes and unforgiving words. You lashed out, forgetting manners, going on the offensive in your desperation to gain the upper hand. She simply made you so furious._

_You stomped on her childish hero act and saw her defenses crumble into dust, her face finally naked and vulnerable as she looked at your eyes, your lips, your eyes again and you held your breath waiting for the inevitable. Once again she escaped you._

_Returning to Redcliffe and the Guerrins felt like a mockery. What took place behind those castle walls even more so. She never ordered you to lay with the witch. That is probably why you agreed to do it. Her honesty threw you completely off guard. Later you thought about it in terms of reversed psychology. The easiest way to trick a child. Did she really have you so completely figured out?_

_Denerim fell into ruins as the dark waves clashed against and broke its walls. You followed her through those burning ruins, the steady beating of her heart setting your course, the familiar yet overwhelming smell of taint surrounding you, revealing the true nature of your rotting soul._

_At the top of Fort Drakon you let yourself fall into that roaring abyss, until the archdemon chewed your armour to pieces, almost splitting you in half. Her ever challenging posture and never yielding eyes as she slit the demons throat, and you once again marveled at what darkness, destiny and young fearlessness could create._

_Healing physical wounds takes time. Emotional ones are trickier. You laid side by side for days, as the healers worked their magic. When you fell asleep, when you woke up, the last and first thing slipping into your consciousness, making you aware, was her heartbeat. And yours. In the same rhythm. For the first time in your life you realized that the heart beating faster and louder when in danger is not necessarily fear. It's a Calling. Reminding you of what's important, trying to lead you home. If you follow your heart you will never lose your way._

_You both rose to endless days and nights of celebrations around Ferelden, from Gwaren to Highever. She kept escaping you, seemingly aloof, taking your advice but ignoring your presence and the steady rhythm your hearts had settled into. But you could see her watching you in the corner of your eye. You felt her breathlessness when you came close, the heavyness in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks. How your bodies had started speaking an entirely different language, responding to one another in ways completely out of your control._

_There were no limits to your fury._

_You were still a general at heart. Even though you had no armies at your disposal, you knew how to strike when the enemy was vulnerable. This one was lying naked in a bath tub in her old room at Highever castle. No armour or weapon in sight. You just walked in and barred the door. She merely gasped at your impertinent intrusion. What could she have done. Definitely not get up and stop you, not in that condition.  
_

_You grabbed her by the throat and kissed her until she scratched your silverite breastplate, pleading for skin and muscle, begging to be on equal terms, wanting all of you. And you relished the look in her eyes when you put a gauntlet-clad thumb in her mouth to shut her up and simply said_ no _._

_Then you made her gasp some more._

_You sank your other hand into that hot water and fucked her until her eyes rolled back in her head, as she licked your silverite-fingers, her heart racing, spurring you, begging you to lead her home. And when you ordered her to come for you, she did._


	8. We happy few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends, and new, trying to get along. They also receive a rather important piece of news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, comments and kudos. I do appreciate everything you might have to say, and it really gives me the inspiration to continue.

“Truly, I live in dark times!  
The guileless word is folly.  
A smooth forehead Suggests insensitivity.  
The man who laughs  
Has simply not yet had  
The terrible news.”

— Bertolt Brecht, _To those born later_

 

The captain's quarters was a surprisingly clean suite in mahogny and crimson, decorated with compasses, nautical charts, sextants and a large brass chandelier over the large table, offering a rather impressive supper. There were atleast three different kinds of fish, roasted nug and even bear and wine from Antiva, Nevarra and Tevinter.

In a corner, a big golden cage, larger than a human man, containing two black ravens. The birds observed them silently with eyes that seemed to shimmer in all colours of the rainbow.

Isabela did her best, playing the gracious host. She saw to that everyone was more or less properly introduced. It turned out Bethany and Loghain were somewhat acquainted. To Aveline's and Hawke's surprise, one might add ("Why hadn't she told them? This was the traitor teyrn, after all!"). What came as a surprise to everyone was the fact that Loghain recognized Aveline ("Vallen, right? I am sorry about your late husband. He was a good man."), and that fact threw Aveline so much off guard, she remained silent for quite some time.

Isabela also got Fenris a new shirt, since the one he had been wearing got destroyed during the fight. To his surprise, the shirt came without any suggestive glances or remarks about his body. Thank Andraste for small mercies.

Isabela put Loghain between herself and Bethany. On the other side Fenris between Hawke and Aveline. Filling their cups with wine, she told them a bit about the ship, her latest hats and the ever so tiresome bureaucracy of Orlesian port authority.

Fenris stared at Loghain, his green eyes turned black, as he emptied his cup. Aveline's face was calm but stern, as she reached for the fish. Bethany somehow seemed amused by the situation, watching her companions and their reactions to the unexpected guest. Hawke still seemed a bit surprised; however she was the only one actually responding to Isabela's chatter, commenting every now and then and asking questions in return. Loghain sat rather still, slightly turned towards Isabela in laid back politeness; his face a blank slate, not revealing anything that might go on inside his head.

All of the guests, apart from Loghain and including Isabela, did seem rather tense. Every now and then they would look at Loghain and show a display of emotions; anger, resentment, irritation, curiosity.

"So", Aveline finally said. "I am just going to say what everyone here is thinking. What have you been up to, Fenris? And - especially - with him? Why is he here?"

Fenris pursed his lips and filled his cup yet again, obviously wanting to get as drunk as possible.

"I tracked a Tevinter slaver through Orlais. Long story short, she noticed and caught me. Lucky for me she had also caught a few Dalish from a clan, nearby. The Dalish did not take kindly to their friends and family becoming slaves, so they attacked and set us free. Led by Merril, believe it or not. I got injured in the process and had to stay for a while. As payment, I was told to take...Loghain with me. Protect him. Obviously the Dalish thinks higher of him then you do."

Loghain cleared his throat.

"I wouldn't say that. This particular keeper is an old friend of mine, that's all."

Hawke frowned. When she finally spoke her voice was an odd mix of cold steel and gentle curiosity.

"And what were you doing among the Dalish? Seeking refuge for yet another crime? You are a deserter now, among other things, if I understood my sister correctly."

Loghain helped himself to some more boar and nug. The fact that he'd had another supper just recently didn't seem to affect his appetite at all, Fenris thought to himself. Loghain met Hawke's eyes.

"Yes", he simply said, and held her gaze.

"And that's all you're going to say?" Hawke continued, her voice a bit more strained now. "That's all you will tell us? Fenris made a promise to protect you, not knowing who you were or what crimes you have commited, and you will hold him to that, not even telling him what you have done?"

Loghain leaned back in his seat.

"Him - or you?" he asked, squinting his eyes at Hawke. Hawke's jaw dropped a bit, but she didn't avert her gaze. They looked at eachother for a while. Although staying completely silent, noone could not help but notice the struggle between them. The growing tension. They measured and tested eachother, tried to make out what kind of person the other one was.

Bethany broke the silence as she leaned forward, letting Isabela refill her cup.

"Actually, sister dearest, I'm a desterter as well. Just saying."

"You're family!" Hawke said, her voice low but her blue eyes flashing with anger.

"And Loghain is my family", Bethany replied. "My brother."

Loghain raised his eyebrows and gently turned to Bethany. A silent "thank you". Hawke and Aveline stared at Bethany, but remained silent. They had obviously not seen that coming.

"I still believe he owes Fenris an explanation", Hawke finally said, playing with her knife; putting the edge towards the tabletop, slowly sliding her fingers down the blade and then turning the knife upside down, repeating the process.

"He can't speak for himself?" Loghain asked, the same vacant expression in his face.

Hawke dropped her knife. It hit the table with a clash.

"Alright!" Isabela tried to intervene. "Maybe we should..."

"I can speak for myself, and I do have a question for you", Fenris interrupted, leaning forward towards Loghain. "You told me you have a problem with blood magic. That blood magic was sort of the reason you came my way in the first place. So I guess it has something to do with you deserting. And you seemed just as eager as I was, killing those Vints. Those... Venatori."

Bethany froze. The rest of the group turned their eyes to Loghain. He simply looked at Fenris.

"And...your question is?" he finally said.

Fenris snorted.

"I keep my word, always. You don’t need to worry about that. But right now it wouldn’t hurt if you gave me a little background, something that would make this…contract of mine seem a little bit more worth while. I suppose my question is 'would you be so kind to indulge us?'" he grunted, his voice filled with sarcastic politeness.

Loghain nodded, as if in admitting defeat.

"Fair enough. Let's just say that blood magic no longer is considered taboo within the Grey Wardens. High up in our ranks. Also, as a result of Tevinter influence."

Aveline frowned, as if in deep thought, contemplating Loghain's words.

"Does this make any sense to you, Bethany?" she asked.

"It does", Bethany admitted. "It...I...the Wardens were planning something. Something to do with that conclave. I was...We were on our way there when I left. When I deserted."

"The conclave?" Isabela asked, her eyes suddenly wide.

"And..." Fenris said, "...the Vints are also interested in old ruins. Elven stuff. And red lyrium."

"Are we talking about the same conclave? The one in Haven?" Isabela tried to get attention.

"Red lyrium?" Hawke exclaimed. "As in the-thing-that-made-Bartrand-crazy?"

"Who is Bartrand?" Loghain looked confused.

"We ran into some Vints digging in some old eleven ruin. The place was filled with it", Fenris explained. "They were also searching for elven ruins and artefacts back in the Heartlands. Made Merril freak out completely. She even smashed that old mirror."

"Hello!" Isabela sounded frustrated. "Are you telling me the Wardens were going to that conclave? With the Divine?"

"Merril destroyed her mirror?" Hawke gasped.

"Who is Merril?" Loghain looked more and more confused.

"Oh, for the love of the Maker!" Isabela yelled, standing up. "The Divine is dead! Murdered! At the conclave in Haven!"

The cabin went completely silent.

 

\---

 

After Isabelas explanation they all sat in thoughtful silence, trying to grasp the information. Isabela'd had a raven from Varric earlier, carrying a short but clear message. The Divine had indeed been murdered at the conclave by some unknown perpetrator. Of course, the whole chantry had been thrown into chaos, like the entire world, suffering under the war between mages and templars. It was only a question of time before the news spread.

Isabela had immediately sent another raven back, asking Varric to keep them informed. How the bird was going to find them in the middle of the Waking Sea Loghain did not know, but when he asked the captain she simply smiled knowingly. Loghain didn't have the energy to persist. He was completely drained, and so the others seemed to be as well. Atleast the news made the others turn their focus elsewhere, no longer seemingly wanting to attack him. They decided to call it a day. Tomorrow they could sit down and compare notes, trying to make out as much as possible from the situation. Right now, all Loghain could think about was the possibility of lying down and resting his aching limbs.

They were indeed heading for Kirkwall. Apparently this Aveline were supposed to leave them then and there. Loghain hoped he would be able to convince Isabela to make another stop. But that was a problem that needed to be fixed another day. Besides Bethany Isabela was the only person here treating him like he was worth a little bit more than faeces. Aveline hardly looked at him. The elf - Fenris - was grumpier than ever. Hawke made no effort hiding her contempt. He didn't blame them, really. And he felt no need to make them change their minds about him. Maybe it would have been in his interest to atleast make this journey as smooth as possible. That, however, demanded a certain amount of humility, he thought to himself. A quality he simply did not possess.

Isabela gave him a cabin next to her own, and opposite Aveline's and Bethany's. Luckily Hawke's and Fenris' was located on the other side of the captain's cabin. Loghain had a feeling one would not want to try to sleep to close to them tonight.

It was something about Hawke's and Fenris' relationship that rubbed him the wrong way. How he followed her like a dog. How she spoke for him and once during their supper, had actually slapped his fingers when he reached for some more wine. Fenris had probably been a slave once, given his home country. In some ways he still acted like that was the case. Especially around Hawke. _Or you're simply an old bigot, opposed to every human-elven-relationship you encounter._ Be quiet, Elissa.

The captain lingered in the door, while Loghain started to unpack in the cramped but tidy space.

"My my.." she said in a low, sort of suggestive voice. "The Hero of River Dane, here on my ship. That will be something to tell the grandchildren..."

Loghain turned around, examining her with his icey stare.

"Do you have children?" he asked.

Isabela snorted.

"Heavens, no!"

"In that case, telling your grandchildren will prove a bit of a challenge."

Isabela's eyes widened. Then she laughed. It was a high pitched, but not uncomfortably so, sort of girlish giggle, that sounded way more genuine and innocent then one would have expected from her. Rather endearing, actually. He couldn't help but smiling back at her.

"Maker's breath, Isabela, leave the poor man alone", Bethany said, leaning out of her cabin.

"I was just making sure my guest has everything he needs!" Isabela replied over her shoulder, her voice somewhat irritated. "Do you? Have everything you need?" she continued, turning back at Loghain.

"For the moment, I believe so, yes."

Isabela leaned against the bulkhead, pushing her hips out to the side. A slow but unmistakable motion.

"If that changes...you know where to find me", she said in that low voice.

Was she flirting with him?

"I...suppose I do", he replied, examining Isabela with a frown. "Thank you."

Isabela smiled and slowly turned around, still leaning towards the bulkhead, giving Loghain full display of her arched back and what that did to her body. She returned to her cabin, her hips swaying.

" 'Do you need anything, Bethany?' " Bethany yelled after her, and then turned to Loghain shaking her head. "Looking after her guests, my ass. Isabela is a dear friend, but she is simply hopeless. 'Maneater' doesn't even begin to cover it."

Loghain shrugged.

"This happens a lot then", he said, continuing his unpacking.

"All the time. My apologies."

"No need for that. I take no offense."

He heard a low snort from Bethany's cabin. Aveline.

"Well, let me know if she troubles you", Bethany replied. "Sleep well."

"You as well, sister", Loghain said, starting to close his door.

“And…Loghain…?” He stopped, meeting her dark eyes through the now quite narrow opening. “It is good to see you.”

Her voice had a slight shiver. He understood. Maybe they were the only ones left. He suddenly felt a lump in his chest, and didn't trust his voice to obey him so he simply nodded. The only ones left. _Elissa_.

That night Loghain went to sleep alone. His aching body cradled by the rockings of the ship; but his tainted heart rested against the rhythm of another one, just like his. He had forgotten the comfort the echo of a kindred heart could bring, and slept peacefully, without a single nightmare.

 

 


	9. Treason and Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter at sea. Our companions trying to get along and build some trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for coming along - reading, comments, kudos! I really appreciate it!
> 
> Also - I will be posting less often from now on, but regularly. Atleast two or three times a week, so hang in there!

 

“For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.”

― Suzanne Collins, _The Hunger Games_

 

A night on the ocean may be quiet and dark, but not as quiet and dark as one might think. The storm had passed and left the sky wide open, spread with stars and a growing moon, painting a shimmering path across the dark waters. Clattering sails and sailors, speaking low and sometimes laughter. Creaking and splashing. The ravens saying goodnight. A pirate's lullaby.

Fenris would slowly, due to his injuries, undress and rub his wounded shoulder. Luckily, the wound had not opened, in spite of the fight earlier. He would drink his last potion in hopes of a calm night, and finally - finally - take of his boots.

Hawke would gently put her hands on his arm, a quiet offer to check his wounds, but he removed it, kissing her fingertips. Loghain's stitches seemed to stay put. There was no need. And Fenris would watch how Hawke's eyes blackened when she realized he had let Loghain examine him. Let Loghain touch him.

It was something about her demeanor when she was in that mood. That possessive mood. Something about her face that made his heart race. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were furious. How she with just one look made him feel like he'd done somehing he wasn't allowed to. Like he was her proparty. The wrongness about it all. The shame. How it made his knees buckle, his mouth dry, his whole body a clash between soft and hard.

She would walk up to him. Put one hand on his hip and move it in the direction of where his blood was flowing. The other one on his bruised arm. On the bruises, made by Loghain. Her thumb traced the shifting colours; blue, purple, green. Then it would stop at the darkest point, the epicentre, and push, press down, until Fenris shivered under the pain. He would open his eyes, knowing how naked his expression was, caught like this between pleasure and pain. Knowing how much she liked it. _I am yours, completely._

Afterwards, they would slowly entangle. That brief post-coital confusion about where one ends and the other begins. The souls struggle to retake its body, after being so completely dissolved inside and around another person. Hawke would ask what Fenris had made out of their new companion, and he would answer. In return he would ask questions about Loghain's past, since he wasn't clear about the details. She would reply. Legends turned into short sentences. Treason upon treason. She would frown on her way into the fade, and quietly whisper she simply did not trust the man. And when she, a moment later, was sound asleep, Fenris would quietly whisper back; _But I do_.

 

\---

 

Bethany was almost out of her cabin before she had woken up. It was like she had a thread connected to her insides, something pulled at it. Pulled at her. It was fainter here, on the ocean. Like she was farther away from the source. The ground, and what went on beneath it. She also felt like Loghain's presence calmed her. That feeling, that connection, she felt around other Wardens. Like her heart encountered a mirror. A series of sensory reflexions.

She gently knocked on Loghain's cabin. He opened, wearing nothing but leather breeches, but seemingly awake.

"Just a moment", he said with that voice, even lower now in the morning, as he pulled a shirt over his head with one hand, and moved a few books, paper and quill from the bed with the other.

"I hope I didn't wake you up", she said, stepping into the small space.

"You didn't", Loghain replied, as he sat down on the deck. "I was writing a letter."

Bethany raised her eyebrows in surprise as she took a seat on the bed. It was warm. From Loghain, she presumed, and something about that made her cheeks warm. She cleared her throat.

"I got the impression you were trying to disappear."

"Not entirely. Not to everyone."

They looked at eachother for a while. Really looked at eachother, like the other persons eyes were a place to seek refuge in. It felt safe. Bethany was surprised at that, but it really did. Those eyes. They carried so much. She could really imagine Loghain staring down just about anybody. But to her they just seemed comforting.

She suddenly remembered her sister and Aveline yesterday. How thrown they had been when Bethany called Loghain "family". They obviously held the same grudges as they did ten years ago. Hadn't they changed at all? Maker knows Bethany had. Ten years - a lifetime. Another life.

"May I ask who you are writing to?" Bethany asked. It was rather straightforward, but somehow she felt Loghain wouldn't mind. They were some kind of allies here, weren't they?

"I'm writing to my daughter. And to the Warden Commander of Ferelden", he replied.

Neither of the women needed a further introduction. The queen of Ferelden and the Hero of Ferelden. Bethany nodded.

"And what do you tell them?"

Loghain ran his fingers through his hair.

"I tell Anora as much as I think she needs to know. Mostly that her old father is still alive. Elissa I tell...just about everything."

"You trust her?"

"Completely."

"And is she well? Do you know if she...?"

"No. I haven't heard from her in a while. I don't even know where she is. Rumour says she's no longer in Amaranthine. I send the letters to a...middleman. A way of communication we have practised for years when it comes to more delicate information. Hopefully I can find a courier in Kirkwall. "

There was something about Loghain when he mentioned the Warden Commander. His eyes squinted. Like he'd accidently hurt himself. Like he was staring into the sun.

"Brother, do you feel it as well?" Bethany asked, the words falling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"The Calling? I do", he replied, his low voice fainter and a bit more high pitched at the same time, like it was uncomfortable to talk about. It was, atleast to Bethany.

"I think...we need to tell them."

He leaned his head back, his jaw slightly tilted up, and looked at her through his lashes.

"Your sister is the Champion of Kirkwall, right?"

"She is. How did you know?"

Loghain snorted.

"I live in this world, right? I talk to people. Read. Word get around. So, she started the mage rebellion?"

Bethany shook her head, frantically.

"No, she did not start the mage rebellion."

"Are you telling me she was not a friend to Warden Anders who blew up the chantry? That she didn't fight against the templars of Kirkwall, trying to protect the mages, led by an abomination?"

Bethany felt her face turning red.

"It's more complicated than that!" 

"Really?" Loghain's voice was dry. His face, as always, a blank slate.

"What about you? Aren't you the one who let almost every Grey Warden die at the verge of a blight? Who preferred a civil war to break out before king Cailan keeping the throne?" she bursted out.

Loghain made an attempt at a smile.

"Fair enough", he simply said, then leaned back again watching her with those icey blue eyes. They weren't that comfortable anymore. And Bethany suddenly felt trapped, between her new life and the one she thought she'd left behind.

Loghain let out a sigh. A long hissing sound, like he suddenly gave in to something.

"Do you trust Hawke?" he asked.

"Completely", Bethany said.

"Well", Loghain muttered. "There you have it, then."

 

\---

 

Hawke had woken up not knowing where she was. A strangely low, dark ceiling. A smell of sea and tar. A gently, rocking motion. She moved her legs a little and felt skin and muscle close to her, intertwined with her own limbs. Skin and muscle and lyrium. She remembered, and something warm sort of broke and spread inside her; like a big, red flower budding, shivering with heat.

She moved to her side and watched Fenris sleep. The stillness of his face, those tattoos she loved and hated, the distance between his hipbones. He looked younger like this. Peaceful. Almost innocent. He was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Painfully beautiful. _I will remember you just like this. Whatever happens_.

There had been times she had tried to tell him, make him see, understand how she saw him. How other people saw him. Through her words, by pointing out how men and women on the street watched him, by placing him in front of a mirror. Fenris would simply be confused, sometimes embarassed. Often angry. _I am not some piece of meat_. She just wanted him to understand.

And other times she didn't. Other times she wished he would stay oblivious and suspicious all his life. Expecting the worst from everyone except her. That day when he realizes, she thought, he will definitely leave me. _I would rather kill him first_.

\---

 

Isabela steered the ship,as the starry skies grew fainter under the rising sun. When Hawke approached, she realized her Rivaini friend was singing.

"You're in a good mood", Hawke yawned, wrapping her arms around herself as protection from the chilly morning breeze.

"It's a trick to keep awake", Isabella explained. "But yes, I am in a good mood. It's like old times. We're all back together. Almost."

"Except the chaos is now bigger than Kirkwall. Worldwide-big, to be specific", Hawke muttered. She forced herself to look at the horizon. It was breathtaking; the sleepy waters a dusty greyish blue under skies slowly turning a rosey golden. Breathtaking. If one actually saw it and not simply stared.

"Almost all back together. I miss Merril", Isabela carried on. "I wonder how she's holding up, poor kitten."

"Not a poor kitten anymore, it seems."

"And Varric, of course.", Isabela kept on going, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. If she mentions Anders now... Hawke thought to herself, but didn't even have the time to finish the thought until Isabela went on: "But....we do have a new companion..."

Hawke snorted.

"This is all very Fereldan", Isabela said, making a face. "I don't get half of it. Could you please give me the overview? Why should I hate this Loghain?"

"He is a traitor", Hawke said. "Simple as that. He abandoned the Grey Wardens at Ostagar during the Blight. Got king Cailan killed. Aveline and her husband were there, same as me and Carver. Later the darkspawn horde marched on Lothering, my old home town. Completely destroyed it."

"And...then he became a Warden?" Isabela asked,her voice filled with disbelief.

"Then he became a Warden. The Hero of Ferelden conscripted him before the battle of Denerim. So he was there, helped her kill the arch demon." "

"A pragmatic girl, this Hero of Ferelden", Isabela decided.

"Then I suppose he went to Orlais, or something", Hawke shrugged. "And betrayed the Wardens and now he's here."

"Well, it sounds like a man I'd rather be friends with than enemies, that's for sure!" Isabela said.

"Until he stabs you in the back", Hawke exclaimed. "Like he has done to his allies over and over again. I don't trust him."

Isabela squinted at the horizon, contemplating Hawke's words.

"Hawke", she finally said. "Trust is a matter of knowing the people around you. You can trust a sellsword to always work for the highest bidder. You can trust a former slave not having warm feelings for his old country. And a greedy dwarf from the merchants guild selling out everything, including his brother, for a stupid relic."

"What are you saying, Isabela?"

"I am saying, people don't betray for no reason. There are reasons. Fear. Poverty. Whatever. What is important to some people are not important to others. If you want to find out if you can trust this Loghain you must first get to know him, and second, you must give him no reason to betray you. Not trying to make excuses, just explanations. A person betraying someone - or something - can also be true to someone or something else. Simple as that."

Hawke raised her eyebrows.

"That actually makes sense."

"What makes sense?" Bethany's low voice interrupted as she walked up the ladder. She looked a little healthier, Hawke thought to herself. Rested, even. Something dug into her, deep inside, when she looked at her sister. Love, fear and guilt wrapped into one. The last Hawke beside herself. And what kind of life did she have?

"We were talking about Loghain", Hawke explained. "Come here, let me fix your hair."

Bethany obeyed, placing herself in front of her big sister.

"I'm not sure I want to hear any details", Bethany mumbled.

"Don't worry", Isabela said. "I'm trying to convince your sister to bury the hatchet. Right, Hawke?"

Hawke let out a dry laugh as she started to comb through her sisters hair with her fingers.

"And ‘trying’ being the operative word”, Hawke said. “But I will let you try some more.”

 

\---

 

Aveline would eventually fall asleep, in spite of all the thoughts hammering inside her head. Tonights reunion had not been what she expected. It made her past echo inside, in that big, hollow space that Wesley´s death had created. An echo of smoke and blood and hope, answered with nothing.

Some people go through life without any major tragedies. They get married, they have children and eventually, when it is time, their parents die at home in their beds, surrounded by family and loved ones. The way it should be. And then there's people who loses somebody in their prime. That sort of death that is incomprehensible and completely unfair. Aveline was not alone; Ferelden was filled with that kind, she knew that. But she was still angry. At Wesley, for leaving her. At Loghain, for his betrayal. At herself for becoming this scared, nervous, pathetic person.

She'd had the courage to love again, but it hadn't been uncomplicated. Her days were still filled with worrying, waiting and picturing all kinds of ways her husband and children would get hurt. Or worse. It was love at its worst. The dark side of love. It made her ugly.

This morning she would wake up to an empty cabin. Bethany was nowhere to be seen. And as always, Aveline became terrified. What had happened to Bethany? Aveline would asume the worst. Bethany had fallen of the ship. Or perhaps jumped. Her pale body, even paler, in that dark, stormy water. Aveline's fault, for not keeping watch, not being a good enough friend, for failing. Aveline's fault yet again.

Aveline would search the ship. Her heart's pounding, the greyish dawn telling stories in her face. Stories about waiting for Donnic to get back from his shift. Stories about watching over a sick child, preparing for the worst, even if it's just a cold. Stories of the walking wounded, the ones who'd once been abandoned and never will be the same again.

She would find Bethany on deck, turning her pale face to the first, shy rays of sunlight. Next to Isabela, steering the ship, looking like she'd had an impossible full nights sleep. Hawke was braiding her sisters hair, like they were still a pair of teenagers back in Lothering. Like nothing had ever happened. Like that echo in Aveline's head was simply made up.

And Aveline returned to her cabin, trying to wipe the ugly of her face. The hysterical, over caring, overbearing, that was so far from the calm and collected Aveline her friends knew. Death was the ultimate betrayal, she thought to herself. And she would never be free from it.

 

\---

 

The atmosphere around the breakfast table was quietly tense. Due to conflict or maybe the fact that some of the people was newly awake. Isabela waited on all her guests, presenting them with bread, cheese, fruit ("eat it while it's still fresh") and tea. There was something about her here, out at sea, Hawke thought to herself. Like nothing could touch her, burden her, weigh her down. She truly seemed to be in her natural habitat.

The rest of them seemed to be in various states of well being. Fenris ate quietly, not even granting the others a "good morning". If this was a result of him not liking mornings, or his usual reserved behaviour, was unclear. Aveline looked like she hadn't slept at all, her eyes red and puffy. Eventually, eating seemed to give her the energy the night had failed to grant her, and she chatted away with Isabela, telling the captain about her children.

Loghain and Bethany seemed to be at ease. They greeted eachother with a faint smile (Bethany) and a nod (Loghain), and sat down together, obviously seeking the others company. Both of them looked healthier than yesterday, but at the same time they had that certain somehting about them.

That certain somehting was not the shadows beneath their eyes, that sort of transluscent skin or their taut, muscular frames. It was something beyond the physical. A sort of hunger in their posture. A way their gazes seemed to lose their way, easily becoming stuck in unknown eternities, far away from the others. Mentally so far áway, physically prepared to attack at any given moment. They reminded Hawke of caged animals.

Hawke herself seemed rested, but on the edge. She was watching the others - Loghain, Bethany and Fenris in particular - a deep line forming between her eyebrows, like she was trying to make out the connections between them.

"You have slept well, I take it?" Aveline asked Bethany.

"I did", Bethany replied, and threw a quick glance at Loghain, but didn't explain further. Hawke watched them with a frown. There was some kind of bond between her sister and Loghain that she neither liked or understood. Some kind of Grey Warden thing, she presumed.

"So", Loghain said. "We are going to Kirkwall?"

"Yes", Isabela replied. "Aveline misses her family, don't you, big girl? And I presume she needs to be back at work as soon as possible."

Aveline didn't reply, she simply raised her eybrows, focusing on another piece of cheese.

"And after that?" Loghain asked.

"Well", Isabela leaned back with a smug smile. "I was thinking about taking you all to Llomerryn. We could stay there until this shitstorm has blown over. It's warm and wild and enteratining and I believe all of you would simply adore it."

Fenris snorted. The first sound he had made that morning.

"Why not?" Hawke said. "Getting away was the plan, right?"

 

"I was wondering if you would consider making another stop in the Marches for me", Loghain said. "Too many Fereldans in Kirkwall for me. I might be recognized."

"No problem", Isabela decided. "Just stay below deck when we're in Kirkwall. I'm sure Hawke will keep you company, she will not want to be recognized either."

At that, Hawke and Loghain simply exchanged a look. A weary (Loghain) and irritated (Hawke) look.

"I was actually thinking about getting some things from my mansion", Hawke said. "My old diary. Do you know if it's still there, Aveline?"

Aveline shrugged.

"When you asked me to 'look after your things' I didn't take it as a snoop-around-free card", the guard captain replied dryly.

Hawke smiled.

"It should be there. Might give us some insight in this whole...red lyrium-business..." She turned to Loghain. "If you're interested."

Loghain shot her a surprised look.

"I am. Thank you. Would you care to tell me what you know of this matter?"

Hawke seemed to think his question over.

"I would. If our Wardens..." she looked at Loghain, then Bethany, then back at Loghain again, "...would tell us what they know."

Bethany and Loghain shared a glance.

"Of course", Loghain finally said.

 


	10. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Thank you for hanging in there. Please drop a comment, I really appreciate anything you have to say, ask or point out. <3

"Men at some time are masters of their fates:  
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."

— William Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_

 

"No man is an island,  
Entire of itself.  
Each is a piece of the continent,  
A part of the main.  
If a clod be washed away by the sea,  
Europe is the less.  
As well as if a promontory were.  
As well as if a manor of thine own  
Or of thine friend's were.  
Each man's death diminishes me,  
For I am involved in mankind.  
Therefore, send not to know  
For whom the bell tolls,  
It tolls for thee."

— John Donne,  _For whom the bell tolls_

 

Aboard the ship, time was indicated by an hourglass and a large brass ship's bell. Every time the glass was turned the bell rang - between one and eight times, depending on which time it was. When the bell was struck eight times, it meant watch change. Except for the dog watch in the afternoon, wich was split in half so both watches could have a proper dinner, and also not have the same watch two days and nights in a row.

Loghain had noticed the system immediately, more or less. He was rather fascinated by the sailing routine. The watch system, the organizing of chores and dutys, but also the organizing of things. How the ship could hold so many tools and sea charts, not to mention all its sailors and the food needed to support them. Everything seemed to have its place. There were hidden cupboards and compartments everywhere, and the - to an unknowing eye - seemingly careless and chaotic art of sailing was indeed an intricate, well organized system, if one bothered to take a closer look.

Admiration for the ship organization led to a somewhat reluctant admiration for its captain. Reluctant - not because of Isabelas flirtatious behaviour, he didn't really care about that - but because she was obviously a pirate. A criminal. No ordinary sailors were armed like these. No ordinary sailors would meet an attack from Tevinter mages with a shrug and keep on working, throwing in a punch every now and then between setting sails. And no ship headed for Llomerryn with the intent of honest trade.

But still. Isabela was obviously a competent sailor, a good fighter and a leader as well. Loghain noticed she often took time to talk to her men and women. Sometimes she helped them out with their chores, or even relieved them if they needed a break. Always with a smile and, as long as everyone did what they were supposed to, never a harsh word. Loghain found himself a bit annoyed by the fact that her friends treated Isabela like a comic relief or an entertaining, but challenging, younger sister. Even more annoying was the fact Isabela accepted it, seemed to enjoy it even, diminishing herself.

During the morning Isabela had managed to lend a hand in the galley, organize an inventory in the cargo hold, and steer them clear of a few completely invisible banks. Right now she was serving them hot tea; a spicy Rivaini draught Loghain found he actually liked.

Hawke had told them about the Deep roads-expedition. About Bartrand's idol and what it did to him. How Knight-Commander Meredith somehow came across it and went crazy as well. That red lyrium affected people, even if they didn't even touch it. As far as she knew, and everyone around the table seemed to agree, red lyrium was completely unknown. But now it had been seen both in the Temple of Sacred Ashes and also in that old elven ruin Loghain and Fenris had explored. Like it had spread.

They had read Varrics letter over and over again. An attack on the conclave. A giant breach into the Fade. Only one survivor, and this survivor seemed to have actually walked through the Fade. Physically. The Divine murdered, and all hopes of peace between mages and templars shattered.

“Walked through the Fade?” Aveline exclaimed. “But that is impossible? It has to be!”

“Not according to the Chantry. Magisters of Tevinter broke into the Golden City, causing the first Blight”, Bethany reminded them.

“But that’s myth. Legend. Metaphors.” Hawke seemed as reluctant as Aveline.

“Obviously not”, Fenris muttered. “Magisters are capable of a lot of things. If they would plan an attack, foul and unknown magic would definitely be their weapon of choice.”

“But this person is not Tevene”, Hawke tried. “She’s Dalish.”

“And you don’t think Tevinter has spies?” Fenris replied.

“What was this Varric doing at the conclave?” Loghain asked. “Is he with the Chantry?”

The rather cheerful atmosphere he got in response told him that wasn’t the case.

“Varric has been sort of a prisoner”, Hawke explained. “This is the first letter he’s been able to send in weeks. They interrogated him because of his connection to me.”

"Sorry, Hawke", Isabela interrupted. "Probably mostly because of his connection to Anders."

The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop several degrees. Fenris' eyes went completely black. Hawke closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, as if she was in pain. Her face turned a revealing pink. From anger, embarassment or something else, Loghain didn't know. Anyhow it was clear Warden Anders was a weak spot.

"What?" Isabela exclaimed. "I can't even mention his name now?"

"I'd prefer you didn't", Hawke said.

"Alright, I get it...'Don't mention the war...'," Isabela let out a sigh.

Loghain cleared his throat, determined to get the discussion back on track again.

"So, you 're telling me that this red lyrium is another form which can grant a certain power but comes at a high price?" Loghain summarized Hawke.

"I suppose", Hawke said.

"Sounds like a description of blood magic", he muttered to himself. "Power for a price."

"Alright, that's my part", Hawke continued. "Now I would like to hear yours".

Loghain and Bethany looked at eachother.

"Well, Loghain started. There are some signs we are facing another Blight. Or atleast some kind of darkspawn-related threat. Clarel, the Warden Commander of Orlais, have started some kind of cooperation with Tevinter. She wants to do a ritual, blood magic, to bind demons and use it against the possible arch demon."

Another Blight. They let the news sink in. Aveline shook her head, like she had trouble understanding what she was hearing. Fenris eyes were two dark wells. Hakwe kept looking at Loghain, like she waited for him to tell her more, say somehing, anything. Bethany also kept looking at Loghain. She was squinting, a crooked smile tugging the corner of her mouth.

"Well, brother, the reason we think it's a Blight..."

She turned silent, as Loghain's hand gripped her wrist under the table. Hard. He turned around and looked at her, his eyes filled with warning. _Don't_. Isabela got up from the bench with a sigh.

"Well, a Blight; that's my cue. I need a drink."

"Maybe we should take a break?" Loghain proposed, still looking at Bethany.

 

\---

 

Loghain opened the cabin door and let the fresh sea air brush over his face. He walked fast, as fast as he could, which was a bit challenging due to the increasing wind and rougher sea.

Bethany was following, he knew that, felt it, and he wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and the rest. She caught up with him when he reached the main mast. Her big brown eyes widened with disbelief and held back anger. Loghain turned around and faced her. Waited.

"What's wrong with you? We promised we should tell them everything!"

She talked in a low voice, her eyes twitching, obviously trying to control herself. Emotional, Loghain thought to himself. Emotional, but used to controlling her emotions. She was still young of course, but far from a child. 

"I did no such thing," Loghain replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Bethany gasped for breath. She was, Loghain figured, not really comfortable feeling this much. Like she didn't want to realize how important her sister was to her.

"You did! Hawke asked us to tell us what we know and you said 'of course'..."

"And I did. Tell her some things I know. That we know. I never agreed to tell her everything."

"Loghain, the Calling..."

"The Calling is a well kept secret, Bethany. It is closely connected to the Joining, to our very core. I took an oath when I joined. I believe you did the same."

Bethany shook her head.

"Under normal circumstances, yes, but these are not. Loghain, the Divine is dead. The Wardens were there. The Circles are shattered and probably the Chantry as well. We have deserted..."

Loghain took a step closer to Bethany. His icey gaze was even more striking up close, and she went silent. 

"Have we?" Loghain said.  "We have disobeyed orders ,yes. Orders that were crimes against our very nature, against everything we are sworn to protect. Tell me, sister, do you still see yourself as a Warden?"

"I do."

"Good. Because so do I. And I fail to see how an extreme situation makes our oath less important. On the contrary, it's more important than ever."

"What if there is no order to be loyal to, Loghain? What if they're all following Clarel? What if we are the only one's left? We can not afford to withhold information right now."

"And why not?"

"Because we are all in this! Together!"

Loghain ran a hand through his hair, in that special way of his. He never really put his hand in his hair, but sort of lifted it away from his forehead.

"You are blinded by sentiment. Tell me, if there were other people than your friends and your sister, would you have wanted to reveal the secrets of the Wardens just as easily?"

Bethany didn't avert her gaze, but she blinked, as if his words were something small and irritable caught in her eyes.

"I didn't realize you were still such an idealist. You - with everything you have done! And believe me, ideals are fine, but you can't let them stand in the way of acting when necessary."

"Ideals are not a hinder, they are a guide. Of course we should act, but on the premisses of our ideals. Bethany, they know what is most important, and that is more than enough. We are _not_ telling them about the Calling."

Bethany shook her head.

"Are you pulling rank?"

Loghain's eyes widened a bit. The situation reminded him of that night in Redcliffe castle. How Elissa had come to his room late at night. The proposal from the marsh witch. The fact that there were no orders. His mouth went dry just thinking about it. Power for a price, indeed.

"I have been in a similiar situation. At the end of the fifth Blight we were just a handful of Wardens. We used some...unorthodox methods, but we never left our ideals. Never. If we had, what had become of the Wardens? After the Blight when we needed to recruit and recover, there was an actual _foundation_ to rebuild upon."

The ship bell rang seven times. Their break was over. Bethany put her hands on her hips.

"I was asking - are you pulling rank?"

"Do I have to?"

Bethany shook her head again. A response, a reaction. Then she simply walked away. Loghain leaned against the main mast and cursed youth, emotions and the combination of them both.

There were people who could put their fate in the hands of The Maker. People who were able to simply lean back, trusting things would come together all by themselves. Loghain Mac Tir had never been such a man.

He looked down on his hands, the hands that had brought him everything in this life. Success and failure, triumph and defeat, all the same. He could almost feel the sand running past his fingers. His time, running out. Loghain hoped he would have time to do what he could. What he must. With or without divine providence.

 


	11. Those who are in favour with their stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another salty chapter at sea. Approaching Kirkwall, though...

"Let those who are in favour with their stars  
Of public honour and proud titles boast,  
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars  
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.

Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread  
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,  
And in themselves their pride lies buried,  
For at a frown they in their glory die.  
  
The painful warrior famoused for fight,  
After a thousand victories once foiled,  
Is from the book of honour razed quite,  
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:  
  
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,  
Where I may not remove nor be removed."

— William Shakespeare, _Sonnet XXV_

 

The captain's cabin seemed to small for Loghain, and at the same time empty when he wasn't there to fill it out with his presence, Hawke thought to herself.

She, Aveline and Fenris stayed put during their break, as Isabela opened a bottle of wine and offered them a cup of the spicy Antivan vintage. Both Hawke and Aveline declined. So did Fenris after a dark glance from Hawke.

She'd had a drunk for an uncle. She would not let the love of her life go down the same, treacherous path.

Aveline reached out after one of Bethany's books, lying on the table. A historical and military overview of the fifth Blight.

"It certainly brings up a few memories, having him around", Aveline muttered, browsing through the book. "Or what do you say, Hawke?"

Everything in their day to day life seemed to evolve around him now. Around a man, a past, she had tried so hard to escape.

Come to think of it, when she tried to remember, she couldn't.

"I don't know", Hawke answered, truthfully.

Aveline looked up from her book.

"What do you mean 'I don't know'?" she asked.

"I mean I don't know. I...don't remember. The Battle of Ostagar, our escape. I honestly don't remember much of it."

Aveline watched her like she had just admitted supporting the legalization of blood magic. Hawke expected nothing less. During their first years together Aveline had been talking about the Blight and the Battle of Ostagar constantly. Constantly. It had been her way of processing her loss. Processing Wesley. But also processing Loghain's retreat.

When Aveline talked about Loghain, one would easily get the impression he had been a personal friend and his acts not political or military ones, but rather a personal deceit directed at Aveline herself.

Loghain Mac Tir had been one of Aveline's childhood heroes and role models. That had not been the case for Hawke.

And when Aveline spent her first years in Kirkwall dwelling on the past, Hawke had pushed those dark days and nights at Ostagar, of escaping Lothering and losing her little brother, as far away as possible. She had obviously succeeded. And now Aveline looked at her as if Hawke's survival strategies had been a personal failure, a deceit as well.

Hawke suddenly remembered Isabela's words earlier that morning. About trying to understand Loghain. She wanted to. No, she _needed_ to. Was _obligated_ to. Once again she found herself in a situation where her friends looked to her, big sister Hawke, to steer them clear of trouble. And if a possible Tevene invasion or another Blight wasn't enough, she found herself in the presence of the man her friends and family more or less rightfully viewed as the one who had destroyed their lives. It was up to her to make sure such a thing wouldn't happen again.

Hawke let out a sigh and reached out her hand towards Aveline and the book.

"May I?"

 

\---

 

During the afternoon the wind increased even more, causing the ship rocking harder, almost rolling from side to side. The rougher the sea, the paler Hawke became. Maybe her persisting on reading in the clammy air below deck didn’t help either. Eventually Fenris would put her to bed next to a bowl, with a wet, cold cloth on her forehead.

Bethany and Loghain was also a bit seasick, but fresh air kept them on their feet. Fenris and Aveline didn't seem affected at all. After Fenris had made sure there was really nothing more he could do for Hawke, he asked one of the sailors if he could help out, and she put him to work.

Isabela had sent the crew below deck, going through every part of the ship and stowing the cargo properly. Not just the cargo. Every single thing was to be put away, and if there wasn't a compartment for it, it should be tied to the ship itself.

Loghain went to his cabin to make sure his things wouldn't smash someone in the face. He leaned against the bulkhead, a slight bend in the knees, trying to imitate the swift movements of the sailors who ran across the ship, no matter the weather. It was obviously not his thing, really. As he reached his cabin he almost ran into Isabela, who came out of her cabin at an impressive speed.

"Oh, sorry about that", Isabela said as she put a hand on his chest, the other on the door knob to Aveline's and Bethany's cabin, moving around him and not looking sorry at all. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked and knocked on the door.

Loghain opened his own door with a frown. Flirting was one thing. Touching was another.

"I will manage", he said, entering a cabin a lot less tidy than he had left it. He suddenly understood the need for the urgent stowing. His armour was lying on the floor. The books were all over the place. Not stowing meant people could actually hurt themselves. Aveline opened her cabin door.

"Yes?" she said, looking from Isabela to Loghain and back again.

"How are you feeling, big girl?" Isabela asked, then looked at Aveline’s comparatively healthy complexion and started laughing. "Oh Maker, nothing touches you, does it? I was afraid you'd be ill as well, but of course you're not."

Aveline shook her head.

"I'm not, thanks for asking."

“When this weather has passed we should really try to entertain ourselves”, Isabela stated with a sigh, a dreamy look in her eyes. She suddenly inhaled deeply, opening her mouth in a silent _oh_ as if she’d had an idea. “Duels!” She turned to Loghain. “Would you like to duel me? That would be the talk of this ship and whole bloody Rivain for years!”

Loghain stopped what he was doing, looking back at Isabela with disbelief in his eyes.

A duel. Rowans chestnut curls sticking out of her helmet. Elissa swirling across the marble floor. _I believe this dance is mine_.

“You don’t really want to duel me”, he answered. “Bad luck if I win.”

“What makes you so sure you will win?”

Loghain shook his head.

“I’m not sure about that at all.”

“I didn’t take you for a superstitious man?” Aveline said, squinting her eyes at Loghain.

“Hardly”, he replied. “But let’s say dueling has left a rather foul taste in my mouth. I wouldn’t enjoy it nor give you my best. I’ll pass…”

His voice turned into a groan as he tried to find a place for his books. Both of the women turned their gaze upon Loghain's attempt to put his belongings away. A rather sad sight, he thought to himself, as he tried to fit in his books and clothes and armour in all the small compartments and tying them up, in vain.

"Wait, let me help you with that", Isabela said, and before he could protest she was in his cabin, on her knees, beside him. "If you do it like that, it won't hold and if it does you will have lots of worries untying them."

Her hands touched his as she took his books and, through magic, it seemed, found perfect places for all of them. They were sailor hands - warm and dry and rough, even rougher than his own. Isabela released a bundle of ropes tied to her belt, and started fastening his sword and shield to the ship.

"Look here", she said, starting to tie a knot. "This is called a reef knot. It's really simple, once you get the hang of it. And when you want to untie it..." Isabela pulled one of the ends sticking out and the knot came undone.

"Handy", he admitted, and she smiled at that as she tied the rope once more.

Together they stowed the rest of his things. Isabela worked fast and efficient, and Loghain helped as best as he could.

"You know..." Isabela continued, something new in her voice. Something low and soft that made him think he needed to watch out. "In this weather, sometimes you need to tie yourself up, in order to not fall out of the bunk. Would you need any help with that as well?"

Loghain sneered. Of course she would move in that direction.

"Not likely", he said, as he stood up.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Isabela was still on her knees in front of him. He almost regretted standing up, given the position she was in and the way her eyes roamed across his body.

This needs to end, he thought to himself.

Then he heard a laugh in the back of his head, a suggestion in that low alto with that Highever-accent, and something came over him.

He took a step towards Isabela, supporting himself by holding on to the bulkhead, and looked down on her, his face completely blank.

"And if I did, would you like me to knock first or simply...enter?" Loghain said, nothing in his expression or voice showing any kind of emotion.

Isabela's jaw dropped, and Loghain thought he could make out a slight blush. She looked at him with a confused expression, clearly unable to read his blank face or his intentions.

"I...should go check the galley", Isabela finally mumbled. She got up and left the cabin, quick as a mouse, followed by a low, sincerly amused laugh. Aveline.

"I have rarely seen Isabela have a loss for words", she said. "Impressive."

Loghain stumbled out of his cabin and closed the door behind him.

"I thought it might be to bold a move", he replied. "That she might misunderstand my intentions. Or lack there of."

"So, you don't have any intentions?" Aveline asked.

"Maker, no!" Loghain let out a sigh. "But Isabela seems like the type who takes any behaviour, how cold it may be, like an invite."

Aveline shrugged.

"Or a challenge. But I do think she understands the meaning of 'no'. She has more integrity than you might think."

Loghain suddenly felt embarassed. Here he had secretely judged his companions behaviour towards Isabela, and then he had treated her like a child himself. Like she didn't deserve clarity, couldn't be reasoned with. He brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Of course she does", he said, more to himself than to Aveline.

The guard captain tilted her head to the side and looked at him.

"You need a hair cut", she stated.

 

\---

 

How Aveline actually managed to cut his hair during this weather, and doing a rather impressive job at that, was a mystery to Loghain. Also, she convinced him to cut more than he had intended. If he wanted to hide, changing his appearance was not a bad idea. She was right, of course. Loghain had wore his hair in a similar fashion since he was a boy. Having the same hairstyle as all the paintings and statues of the Hero of River Dane did not work in his favour. Aveline even suggested he should grow a beard. Loghain merely scoffed at that. A Grey Warden with a beard. Hiding or no, it would not do looking scruffy. He still had his pride. In fact, that was one of the things he desperately clinged to.

Aveline started to comb and then cut through his thick, black mane. She was not gentle, and he had not expected her to be. For a brief moment he contemplated the possibility of this being a way for her to get back at him. Maybe he would have no hair left when she was done. Maybe she would leave a big gap somewhere. Loghain pushed the thoughts away. Aveline harboured no love for him, but she was not childish. Aveline harboured no love for him, and why should she.

"May I ask you a question?" she said, resting the cold steel of the scissors at the back of his neck.

"Certainly", Loghain replied, bracing himself. Whatever the former Fereldan soldier would want to ask him, it would not be pleasant.

"Do you have any regrets?"

 _Maker._ What was she playing at?

She moved the scissors again. Rested one blade against his skin as the other moved. _Snip_.

"I don't see the purpose of regret", Loghain almost spat. "We can't change the past, can we?"

He could feel Aveline smile behind his back. He heard it in her voice.

"I agree. But you didn't answer my question."

Loghain tried to shake his head, but Aveline´s free hand immediately stopped him. A firm grip on top of his head, making him sit still. She combed through the hair above his ear.

"I'm not much of a philosopher." His voice was rather hostile now.

"Let me rephrase, then", Aveline suggested, and sneaked the scissors in between his head and his ear. _Snip_.

"If you could do something all over again. Do it differently. Would you? And what?"

Loghain closed his eyes. _What would you do differently_. Elissa had asked the same question once. So many places rushed through his mind. So many faces. _Nothing_ , he had answered. And that had been true, back then. Until he met her. No, until _he got to know_ her.

Why should Aveline want to know this? Why should he tell her? Then somehow, somewhere deep inside he felt like she had the right to. Like he owed her.

"I had an ally, once", Loghain admitted. "I should not have put my trust in him."

"The alliance didn't work to your advantage?"

Loghain snorted. _She could say that again_.

"It didn't. That's not the case, though. The outcome would probably have been the same, with or without him."

"Why, then?"

"Because the man was simply vile. He went too far."

"Further than you? That must have been too far indeed." Aveline's voice was dry and ripe with sarcasm.

Loghain didn't reply. She was, after all, holding a pair of very sharp scissors.

 

\---

 

Dinner was a quick and rather silent affair. It was almost impossible to eat during this weather, even more so leaning back and relaxing during the meal. Bethany finished and immediately excused herself, heading back upstairs, to the fresh air and the horizon. Hawke didn't show at all and Isabela made sure Fenris would atleast try to make her eat something.

"It's the last thing one wants in that situation, but it actually helps", the captain stated, as Fenris left to look after his patient.

Aveline made no effort to make things more socially comfortable. She finished her meal and went straight to her cabin.

Loghain did the same thing. The seasickness made him tired. He felt like he could sleep for days. Loghain took one of Isabela's ropes and tied himself to the bunk with the newly learned reef knot. He fell asleep immediately.

 

\---

 

Loghain had always been a light sleeper. Or atleast, that's how he viewed himself. To be quite fair, he hadn't been that light of a sleeper as a boy. If he did scrutinize himself and his past, his mother and father did have to put in some work being able to wake him up before dawn.

That whole thing changed when he joined the rebels, though. A change clad in blood and smoke and that ever present fear. Sometimes a jolt through his whole body, along with every unknown sound. Sometimes just a sort of peripheral presence, a sort of background noise, blending in with the darkness. And later, with the beast.

This sleep however; this sleep weighed down by upset balance and a twitching stomach, was heavier than any sleep he could remember. It was so deep the creeking sound of the ship blended with the slight noise of his cabin door opening, never really reached that always more or less awake part of his mind. It was so deep the faint, flickering candle light suddenly appearing, never reflected in his eyes, that always seemed to take in atleast a little of his surroundings even behind closed lids. So deep that the rustling of pages turning while someone went through his books and letters maybe reached his ears, but was deported to the background sounds of his dreams, as he slumbered in the Fade.

Loghain had an uninvited guest in his cabin. And he slept like a baby.

Suddenly the ship lurched to its starboard side, obviously being caught in a particularly high wave. Loghain rolled out of his bunk, and woke up as the rope caught him. He threw out his hand to the side for support, but instead of meeting the wooden deck he caught soft flesh and hair. For a moment they looked at eachother. At the books. At the letters. At eachother.

The reef knot really was handy. It came undone immediately, as Loghain pulled the rope sticking out of the knot. His other hand had clutched around the intruders wrist, and with one swift motion he got out of the bunk and tried to throw the guest down on the bed. His opponent was quicker than he'd expected. A sudden twist of the caught arm, a push in his chest and a fist across his jaw, and Loghain found himself back in his bunk, the intruder straddling him.

"I thought you'd like it rough", Isabela whispered, her voice angry, far from its usual suggestive self.

Loghain caught her arm and bent it backwards, which made Isabela move with him, away from his body and up against the wall.

"What is the meaning of this?" Loghain growled.

Isabela panted under his grip. He was obviously hurting her.

"I might ask you the same thing. You know a lot more than you have been telling us. Than you have been telling Hawke or even Bethany, I suspect."

"This doesn't concern them", Loghain muttered.

"Oh, and that's for you to decide?" Isabela moaned in pain. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't tell them."

Loghain looked at her, anger building in his eyes. He tightened his grip.

“Or I’ll break your arm. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Isabela squirmed.

“My arm will heal, you old fool! You’ll have to do a lot worse than that!”

“And what makes you think I won’t?”

“Because you’re not a bloody idiot! You will not kill the captain of a ship you’re depending on in the middle of the Waking Sea! My friends and my crew will butcher you! You’re not stupid!”

Loghain breathed heavily. He could feel the darkness whirling in his chest, behind his eyes, wanting to break free. He closed his eyes - and let her go.

"So, this was what all those ridiculous charades was about. And helping with my things earlier. I should have known you had an agenda."

Loghain cursed himself inside his head. He had been able to see through Isabela completely in some ways, and missed other things entirely.

Isabela grimaced.

"Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You're still the Hero of River Dane. A bit bulky for my taste, though. I'm more into lanky."

Loghain scoffed.  
  
"Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind? I'd pay for your silence."

Isabela shrugged.

"I have gold. And I don't think you have enough for me to even consider it."

She looked at him, pursing her lips. Then she smiled.

"I have an idea", she said. Loghain looked at her with suspicion in his eyes.

“What?”

Isabela’s smile was wide now. Her eyes sparkled.

"Duel me. If you win, I'll be quiet."

Loghain let out a long sigh. She had won, no matter what.

 


	12. Love, and other lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another retrospect; Hawke.

"For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds."

 

― William Shakespeare, _Sonnet XCIV_

 

 

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,

Which we ascribe to Heaven."  
  


— William Shakespeare,  _All's Well That Ends Well_

 

 

_You did not know what love is. A celestial being, a spirit filling us, Chantry bells and all the heavenly choirs of the Golden City. You didn't know, how could you? You had never had the experience. People spoke of love, of grand gestures and forces of nature, but you felt no response in your body. You did not know what love is. But you knew what love does._

_Maferath loved Andraste. His love a shining beacon, no grenade-smoke nor bloodstains could cover it. A love with sword in hand, ever faithful. Yet she loved another. When he realized he had to share her with the Maker, Maferath betrayed Andraste. A deceitful tongue speaking deceitful words. Andraste was burned at the stake. That is what love does._

_Your mother loved your father. She turned her back on her family and travelled to an unknown land. A comfortable life of plenty disappeared. Instead, a life of meagre crops and hiding from templars. You and your siblings, doomed to running. Always on the edge. That was your inheritance. That is what love does._

_No, words were never important to you. They were easily twisted and often spoken without meaning or consideration. They could hold several meanings. They could be used to twist and morph reality, to hide one's true intentions. Words were treacherous. Your grandparents will, forgotten and hidden. Empty promises or disappointed curses from a drunken uncle. The Chant of Light, meant to comfort, enlighten - or maybe even keep you on a leash. Your mother's stories about a family and a family name, long gone. What did those stories matter now. Words seemed empty. Hollow. Not enough. When people spoke, no matter how eloquent, you felt no response in your body._

_You accepted responsibility without a word. It came natural to you. The oldest sibling, fatherless, from a family burdened by magic. No questions asked and no hesitance. You played the cards you were dealt, not being able to afford separating right from wrong. Ideals were words, and words payed no bills. Meeting him was not your destiny. Not one of those moments you can read about in books. Your story will not be praised by history or embellished by bards to come. You stumbled upon him, in a dirty back alley in the alienage. Accident or cause and effect. Your story will not be reduced by words._

_He followed you. Maybe because he didn't know anything else but how to follow. Maybe because you didn't know anything else but how to lead. You found a language of your own, between fights and endless games of Wicked Grace. Between his fears of being touched, and your brash eagerness to provide for your family. You lead him deep beneath the surface, hunting a dream, riches, a better life. And when your sister got sick in the process, he carried her for you. Your sisters life, tainted, infected, reduced to a cage. Because you wouldn't dare leaving her alone. That is what love does._

_He did not know how to read, so you tought him. You lead him into the world of words, of stories. Knowledge and lies. History and myth. You spoke to eachother, between legends and empty phrases. Your own language felt so much more sincere. And when there were no more words he grabbed you and pushed you up against the wall._

_His body had its own alphabet. Chapter after chapter of stories, beautiful and horrible, written in scars, lyrium and blood. Cautinoary tales and adventures. He followed you, maybe because he didn't know anything else but how to follow. You digged deep into his depths, marvelling at what you found, until there was nothing left but the harsh morning light and his back turning on you as he left, the words you had written on his skin fading._

_You were an open wound, festering. The city provided you with all the distractions you needed, but he was always there. A shadow in the back of your mind. A movement in the corner of your eye. Still following you. You did your best looking straight ahead. Not worrying, not dwelling, not paying attention to anything but moving forward. The signs were all there, but you never bothered reading them. Your mother payed the price, butchered and desecrated, because you were to wrapped up in your own pain to even notice her. That is what love does._

_He came to you, that night. He said he had no words, but he was there. And suddenly you understood. All those words written about love truly are lies. Simply because, they are words. Love_ isn't _anything. It's all about what love_ does _. Love is meaningless without actions._

_Somehow he made you understand that night. How we build trust. How we build love. So you waited, and you didn't wait in vain. You had spoken to eachother in ways that actually meant somehing. Eventually he did come back. And you promised yourself, this time you wouldn't fail. This time you would succeed in protecting him from everything. Even from himself._

_That is what love does. Not by itself, but because you chose to act. Love is not a miracle. It is, simply, what we make it._

 


	13. More than kin and less than kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall, some news that changes some plans and also - retrieving Hawke's journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note - this chapter contains violence.
> 
> Also, I'm taking some more liberties, this time with the Merchant's Guild and bought magic/enchantment.

"I would also like to be wise.  
In the old books it says what wisdom is:  
To shun the strife of the world and to live out  
Your brief time without fear  
Also to get along without violence  
To return good for evil  
Not to fulfill your desires but to forget them  
Is accounted wise.  
All this I cannot do:  
Truly, I live in dark times"

― Bertolt Brecht,  _To those born after_

 

 

For a duel to take place they needed better weather, and it seemed no such luck was in sight. The duel simply had to wait.

The following days were filled with winds, short but cold rains and grey skies. Somehow, the guests, found ways to co-exist in that way soldiers and sailors always do. Respecting others and the small amount of privacy one can possibly achieve on a ship, and at the same time losening up ones own ordinary boundaries.

Bethany spent her time on deck, slowly getting back some colour on her cheeks, telling Isabela she hadn't slept this well for years. Aveline also seemed to enjoy the sea air more and more, or perhaps it was the fact that Kirkwall came closer with each passing day. Fenris helped the crew with whatever he could. It turned out some of the pirates were former slaves, and he listened eagerly to their storys as they thought him everything from useful knots to proper marine terminology. Hawke eventually got more and more used to the sea, and crawled out of bed. Loghain studied Isabela's sea charts and asked many questions about how to read them properly, and what kind of information they held.

They all seemed to have gotten used to Loghain's company. Maybe all except Hawke. She still avoided him best as she could.

Often she would watch how he interacted with her friends, an irritated or possibly confused frown on her face. To her everyone seemed to have formed some kind of bond with the man. Bethany and Loghain had that Grey Warden-thing going. Fenris and Loghain had obviously formed some kind of bond during their travels. Isabela had stopped her flirting, but every now and then Hawke saw her and Loghain exchange glances, liked they shared some kind of secret. Even Aveline seemed to slowly change her opinion about him. She had cut his hair in the middle of the storm (who even gets that idea?), and sometimes they would ask eachother about old friends in arms - do you know what happened to him or her?

Hawke didn't understand it. She kept to the book she had borrowed from Bethany, and waited for the journey to end.

Eventually the black cliffs of Kirkwall appeared. A tense atmosphere spread around the ship. Free city or not, the Gallows was a rather fearful sight. One could easily imagine how the slaves of the Tevinter imperium had felt, arriving here.

Loghain stood beside Isabela, steering her ship through the rocks and statues, so high they even blocked the sun. His face blank as usual, but his eyes held a certain something - an awareness, a sensitivity - that showed he wasn't unaffected by the atmospehere. This city carried memories from an old occupation, that was obvious. That kind of memories that made Loghain shiver from his own.

Also, he felt how the Calling grew louder, more intense as they came closer to dry land. The faint whispers escalated. The beast rattled its chains. Loghain threw Bethany a quick glance. She had her eyes closed, but he could feel her inside. Felt how the darkness stirred in her, as well.

As they approached the harbour all of the guests except Isabela and Aveline went below deck, avoiding being seen and recognized. They sat silent in the captain's cabin, like speaking could reveal their presence to the city. Eventually Isabela would come down. And she carried a raven.

"Is it from Varric?" Hawke exclaimed.

"I believe so", Isabela replied. "Let's have some dinner, and read the letter while we eat."

She pulled out the letter from the small container attached to the birds foot, and put the raven in the cage.

"So", Loghain said. "How does the bird find you?"

Isabela smiled.

"Well, had you taken a closer look you would have noticed these birds don't have ordinary eyes."

Loghain frowned and walked up to the cage. Examining the birds he let out a low, muffling sound of understanding.

"No they don't. What kind of birds are these?"

"Oh, they are ordinary ravens to begin with", Isabela explained. "Except they've had special training. And their eyes replaced with...some sort of enchanted stones. Connected to another one I carry in my pocket in some kind of weird magic way. Makes them know where to go even if you move around. Old trick from the Merchant's Guild, apparently. Varric left me these."

Loghain's widened. He stared at Isabela.

"Replacing bird's eyes with...magic stones? That's barbaric!"

Isabela scoffed.

"Said the soldier. Barbaric, indeed. And using mabaris in combat isn't?"

Loghain had no reply for that.

They sat down for dinner, eagerly awaiting Isabela and Varric's letter. Isabela seemed to enjoy keeping them on a leash. She took her time, making sure the food arrived from the galley, opening several bottles of wine. Finally she cracked the seal on the letter and began reading.

Varric told them his former captors had decided to reform the Inquisition in hopes of closing the breach and restoring order. It seemed the Dalish girl, the only survivor, had gained some sort of ability that would help them. Varric made clear that she was obviously innocent, simply being caught in the line of fire. Furthermore they had started reaching out to other possible allies. The Chantry obviously condemned them and called them heretics. The templar order seemed distrustful as well. However grand enchanter Fiona had invited them to a meeting with the rebel mages seeking refuge by royal decree in Redcliffe. Upon their arrival they realized arl Teagan had been driven from his own lands, replaced by a Tevinter magister who now seemed to be in charge. The Inquisition seemed determined to not let this stand. How they were to go about the matter, they didn't know yet.

"A Tevinter magister? Leading the mage rebellion? In Redcliffe?" Loghain's face was more stern than ever. The Vints was an even larger threat than he had expected. Not only threatening to invade Orlais, but Ferelden.

"Well, it seems like he's not really leading the mage rebellion, more like...he has adopted it, or something", Isabela guessed. "Obviously the mages have become desperate looking for allies. They are offering their service in exchange for protection and possible citizenship in the Imperium."

"Fiona...Royal decree..." Loghain muttered to himself. "I wonder what she did to convince Alistair and Anora..."

"But what about this arl?" Hawke asked. "Teagan? Isn't he a Guerrin? Do you know him, Loghain?"

"I do, and even though he's not much of a warlord or leader he's loyal to his people and his lands. He stayed with them through the Blight", Loghain explained, his posture stiffening. “I don’t believe he would leave them, just like that. Not without threats or violence!”

Loghain took a large gulp from his cup, got up from his bench and started walking on and off, across the cabin. Then sat back down, letting out a long groan. He closed his eyes and rubbed his lids. The others watched him, wide eyes and stiff postures. This was a side of Loghain they had not seen before. He was always sort of held back. But right now that description was filled with a different meaning. Right now he was held back in a way that showed, very clearly, there actually _was_ something to _hold back_. That if he let his defences crumble something very bad could happen.

“ I did not fight the Orlesians nor a bloody archdemon just to watch Ferelden fall into Tevinter hands!” Loghain growled. “The king and queen of Ferelden can not let this stand. This _can not stand_!"

In one swift motion Loghain threw his cup on the deck. It shattered, spilling wine across the wood and Isabelas red carpet. The cabin was completely silent.

"Isabela, when are you planning on leaving?" Loghain asked, his voice suddenly a thin shadow.

"The day after tomorrow. We need some more supplies and Aveline is going to look for Hawke's journal tonight, but then we are good to go."

Loghain nodded.

"I...have changed my mind", Loghain said. "There won't be another stop in the Marches."

"Oh?" Isabela raised an eyebrow. "Where would you like to go then?"

She threw a sea chart on the table in front of him. Loghain put his finger down.

"Here."

Isabela made a face.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure. Now, I will clean up this rather embarassing mess, and then I have to re-write a letter. Could I trouble you with finding a courier for me, Isabela? And preferably someone that leaves today."

"No problem."

They all went back to their dinner. All but Aveline who took her belongings and went home to her family. All but Loghain who sat down with his paper and quill. And all but Hawke who seemed to be busy watching Loghain. _A person betraying someone - or something - can also be true to someone or something else_ , she thought to herself.

 

\---

 

Aveline returned later that night. Her shoulders seemed to have dropped inches since they last saw her. Obviously seeing her family again did her good.

"You couldn't stay away, could you?" Isabela smirked. "I thought Donnic would have you bent over the..."

"I came to return Hawke's journal", Aveline interrupted.

Hawke threw one hand in the air, snapping her fingers. An encouraging, or rather nagging gesture, asking Aveline for the book.

"But..." Aveline continued. "I couldn't find it."

"You couldn't find it?" Hawke repeated. "Well, where did you look?"

"Just about everywhere", Aveline said. "I also have some news that might interest you. The whole city is talking about the Conclave and this Dalish girl. They call her the Herald of Andraste. People say Andraste herself delivered her from the Fade. Also - Vints have been sighted in the city, as well as Grey Wardens."

"Great", Bethany sighed, her voice filled with sarcasm.

"Vints?" Fenris growled. "Where?"

"What do you mean you couldn't find it?" Hawke continued, apparently unable to focus on anything else.

"I don't know, Fenris", Aveline replied the elf. "Donnic had seen them in Hightown."

"Did you really look everywhere?" Hawke persisted.

Hawke and Aveline fell into a converation consisting of Hawke naming different possible locations and Aveline replying with a no, over and over again until the guard captain snapped.

"It's not there, alright! Either you have stashed it somewhere else, or somebody took it!"

"Well, was something else missing?"

"I don't know, I didn't really look. But if you're asking, was the place torn apart in a classic burglar-who-is-looking-for-something-way then no. Nothing like that."

"Maker's balls!" Hawke exclaimed, leaning her head on her fists.

"You have probably put it in one of those 'smart places', don't you think?" Bethany suggested.

"I don't know..." Hawke replied.

"Do you think you could have left it at my place?" Fenris asked.

"I don't know...I don't think so", Hawke moaned rubbing her temples.

"Why would anyone want your private journal?" Loghain asked.

Isabela gave him a sort of knowing glance, but nobody seemed to notice.

"I. Don't. Know." Hawke's voice was now filled with irritation.

"Hawke", Isabela tried. "It's just a journal..."

"It's _not_ just a journal!" Hawke spat. "That's my whole life, in there! I wrote everything down, from the day we sat foot in Kirkwall! Everything! The journal is all I have left, from mother...and..." She leaned back in her seat with a long almost sobbing sigh. "I have to find it."

"I could go look at Fenris' place..." Aveline suggested.

"No, that won't do", Hawke decided, getting up from her seat. "I have to look myself. Fenris, are you coming?"

"Of course", Fenris replied, not a shadow of doubt in his voice.

"Well, then I'm coming to", Bethany said.

"If there are Vints _and_ Wardens around, maybe this isn't such a good idea", Isabela tried. She was met with a complete silence.

"I guess we're all going, then", Loghain said.

 

\---

 

A lost journal and a city filled with Wardens and Vints. They decided to split up.

Fenris, Isabela and Bethany would go to Fenris' old mansion. Hawke, Loghain and Aveline to the Hawke estate. They would search each place and then regroup back at the ship.

The streets of Kirkwall seemed both strange and familiar. It was the same streets, the same buildings, the same night life. In the docks, sailors huddled next to second class merchants and prostitutes, too old or too sick to get a job at an establishment. In Low town, the last merchants packed their goods and closed the shops for the night. Outside The Hanged Man, the smell of spices from the market mixed with cheap ale and urin. In High town small parties strolled along the streets, on their way home or out and about. The skyline looked empty without the Chantry silhouette.

The same city, mostly.

At the same time there was something new, something in the atmosphere. Hawke could feel it, smell it. She heard it in peoples voices. Saw it in their eyes. A desperation of some sorts. Like they were dancing on the edge of the abyss. And maybe they were.

Saying Hawke felt a bit nostalgic walking up the stairs to her former home, was and understatement. There were so many memories, so many thoughts and emotions that simply washed over her. Another time when everything had seemed new and the possibilities were endless. Another time when the nights had been filled with adventure; adventure because of the thrill of it, not due to necessities. Long, tipsy nights at the Hanged Man, Fenris watching her and thought she didn't notice, and mother scolding her when she came home to late. Another time, another life. Hawke let out a sigh that made Loghain give her a puzzled look. She pulled down her hood over her face and unlocked the door.

The Hawke estate looked pretty much the same. Aveline had been right. There were no signs of a burglar. Hawke went through the house quickly and efficiently. She looked in every possible place, but found nothing but dust and rats droppings. Hawke sat down in the stairs, resting her forehed on her knees.

"We will find it, Hawke", Aveline promised. "Let's just go through everything you remember. It could be at Fenris' place. If it's not there, and if it's not at your place we know somebody took it."

"I'm actually quite sure it's not at Fenris' place", Hawke said, her voice muffled against her leathers. "I never brought it anywhere, it never left the house. If it's not here, somebody has stolen it!"

"If somebody did steel the journal that same somebody would have broken in, I presume", Loghain pointed out. "Did you see any signs of a breaking and entering, Aveline?"

Aveline frowned.

"No. None what so ever. All windows were closed, barred and intact. The door was locked and untouched."

"So..." Loghain said. "If somebody took the journal it means this somebody had a key, right?"

Hawke and Aveline looked at eachother.

"Gamlen!" they said.

 

\---

 

As soon as Fenris opened the door to the old mansion he realized somebody had been there. That wasn't really a surprise. Fenris had been squatting for years, the only thing keeping him safe was his dangerous reputation and Aveline's influence. But this was something more than another random squatter.

The place looked cleaner. Almost tidy. Like someone actually had spent some time there, made an effort. Moved in. But the broken lock was still there.

"I don't like this", he whispered to Bethany, but she just gave him a push, urged him to move on. Fenris obliged. He was justa about to take another step when Isabela grabbed his shoulder, prevented him. Fenris looked down and realized he had almost stepped on a wire. All three of them exchanged a look. Somebody had definitely been here. Maybe was here, still. Isabela gently stepped over the trap, and started to lead the way through the mansion.

They soon realized the kitchen had had a smaller makeover. It was actually functional now, and someone had used it quite recently. The cupboards were filled with groceries, and a scent of herbs and spices lingered in the air.

They continued their search upstairs. The bedrooms were also in better shape than Fenris had left them in. Clean sheets in every bed, and a few bedrolls on the floor. Clothes and armour in the wardrobes. Fenris inspected a robe lying on a bed.

"This is Tevene", he murmured. "I believe we have found the Vints headquarters..."

 

\---

 

By the time they had reached Lowtown, Hawke was furious. She didn't bother to knock on Gamlen's door, she simply kicked it open. Loghain and Aveline exchanged a look. A look saying they noticed Hawke's mood, that it probably wouldn't benefit them, and checking if the other one was in the same corner. They were. At this very moment Aveline and Loghain were more on the same team than ever. Hawke was angry, unconstructively angry, and her company made a silent agreement about keeping her on a leash if needed.

The place was dark and smelled, damp and dirty as always. A small streak of light across the floor, reaching from Gamlen's bedroom door further in. They could make out a mumbling coming from his bedroom.

"Gamlen?" Hawke yelled.

"I've...already payed...who do you think you are...you can't simply barge in here..."

The voice was raspy and sort of hollow. Obviously intoxicated. Hawke marched her way through Gamlen's dirty appartment. She opened the door and froze. The sight was bad. A skinny, toothless shadow of her uncle. But the smell was even worse. Booze, vomit and urin. Gamlen had probably not washed for weeks. Hawke grimaced and put her hand over her nose.

"Dear uncle", she said, her eyes wide with held back fury. "You shouldn't have made such an effort just for me..."

"Marian...? What in the Maker are you doing here? Have you come here to gloat..."

Loghain and Aveline caught up with Hawke in the doorway. The guard captain made a low muffled sound, disgust mixed with pity. The Warden simply stared at the man in front of him, his face void of emotion. He grabbed Hawke by the shoulder, preventing her from going any closer. She snarled at him, but didn't resist. Gamlen sat on the floor, dressed in a dirty shirt and trousers that looked like he had soiled himself. Smelled like it, as well. The bottle in his hand was half empty, and filled the room with a strong, almost poisonous scent.

"Gamlen", Aveline finally spoke. "We are looking for Hawke's...for Marian's diary. Her journal. I'm sure you remember it. Red leather, always used to be by her bed...It's missing from the estate, and we thought maybe you had...taken care of it?"

Gamlen tried to focus his red, watery eyes.

"Aveline...Oh, you brought the guard, did you, you ungrateful brat..."

Hawke lunged forward, but Loghain threw an arm around her waist.

"Let me go!" Hawke grunted, but Loghain stood his ground, holding her in a firm grip.

"Gamlen, listen to me! We need that journal", Aveline continued. "It's very important and..." she dug out a few silvers and put them beside Gamlen, "...you would be doing me a favour. A favour I won't forget."

Gamlen raised his eyebrows and took a generous swig from the bottle. He looked at the coin and started counting them.

"Important, you say...How could I've known that...That ungrateful brat...the _Champion_...just left the city and her poor uncle, not a word...How could I've known that journal was so bloody important..."

"So you have it?" Hawke exclaimed. "Well, where is it?"

Gamlen started singing to himself, a low, humming sound. Like he wanted to shut out Hawke's voice, telling them she didn't matter. That he wouldn't bargain with her.

"Where is it?" Aveline repeated Hawke's question.

"That man has it..." Gamlen replied. "There was a man...He came here, looking for it...Paid me for it...I didn't know that old book had any value..." Loghain and Aveline exchanged another look.

"What was his name?" Loghain asked. "What did he look like?"

Gamlen shrugged and started humming again. Aveline grimaced.

"Alright, how tall was he?"

Gamlen threw out his arm, measuring, which told them nothing since he was sitting down.

"Do you remember anything about him?" Loghain persisted.

"I don't know...I'd had a few drinks when he came around...He did sound Fereldan though..." Gamlen emptied the bottle. His head fell to his side. The humming became even less coherent.

"I think that's all we can get out of him", Aveline said to Hawke, gently stroking her arm. "I'm...so sorry, Hawke."

Hawke seemed to have collected herself. Her eyes were hard and shiny, but her posture was calm.

"I guess so", she replied, her voice steady but faint.

Loghain let Hawke go, and led the way out, followed by Aveline. Hawke let them gain some distance on her. She watched them leave, like she was counting the steps. Then, quickly, and silent as a shadow, Hawke threw herself over Gamlen, grabbed him by the throat, throwing punches across his face and upper body.

"You fucking rat!" Hawke growled. "You disgusting...old...greasy...fucking...dirtbag!"

Hawke hit her uncle between every insult. Every punch landing in Gamlen's face or in his stomach with a meaty, thumping sound. And Gamlen didn't resist. He didn't even make a sound. Aveline was upon her within seconds. She grabbed Hawke under her arms and pulled her of her now whimpering, bleeding uncle.

At first Hawke fought, kicked, yelled and spat Gamlen in his dirty, bloody face. Then she leaned into Avelines arms, and let her drag her away.

As they reached the door Hawke was crying.

And Loghain could tell Hawke was a person that hated crying.

 

\---

 

Isabela pulled out a drawer in Danarius' old desk. It was filled with papers. Letters, it seemed. She handed them to Fenris.

"They're in Tevene. Can you translate?"

Fenris let out a muffled, discontent sound. He had become a fair reader, but he hadn't practised reading Tevene much. Even though it was his native language, speaking and reading are two completely different things.

He grabbed the papers and sat down on the floor, a concentrated line forming between his eyes.

"These are just standard orders...Go to Kirkwall...establish presence...oh, wait..." Fenris leaned forward, his lips silently moving, pronouncing the words he was reading.

"What?" Bethany asked, nervously tugging her sleeve.

"They are looking for someone...And so does the Wardens, they are warning about potential Warden presence... They are looking for...a Warden...Tall, dark, human...Male, most likely carrying a bow."

The three of them once again exchanged a look.

"Loghain..." Isabela whispered.

"It´s true, the Wardens in Orlais were looking for Loghain", Bethany explained. "They even hired mercanaries. And if the Wardens are somehow allied with the Vints..."

Isabela put her hand over Bethany's mouth. They heard a door slam downstairs.

They were not alone anymore.

Steps were approaching, coming up the stairs. As quickly as they could, all three of them stepped inside the wardrobe and shut the door.

 

\---

So that's what it felt like, Hawke thought to herself as they left Low town and approached the docks. That feeling of desperation, clinging to Kirkwalls buildings, seemingly infecting their citizens. That was what it felt like when it slipped inside and took control. When feeling threatened people needed to act out their inner urges. Doing those deeds that needed to be done before dying. For most people, drinking and fucking seemed to be most pressing. For Hawke, it was obviously beating her uncle into a bloody pulp.

They walked in silence. Loghain and Aveline seemed to be caught up in their own thoughts as well. So caught up, nobody noticed they were being followed.

As they turned a corner and headed down the stairs to the docks, all three of them were hit in the head from behind. Hawke felt her legs failing her, as she tumbled down, into the darkness of her mind passing out.

 

\---

The wardrobe was definitely not made for three people hiding. Behany's hair was tickling Fenris' nose. Fenris' elbow dug into Isabela's hipbone. Isabela's foot was on Bethany's toe. But somehow they didn't notice. They hardly breathed.

Two voices, they could make out. They could be more of course, but two voices was what they heard. One male and one female. Speaking Tevene. Fenris closed his eyes, trying to block out every other sense but his hearing. Isabela and Bethany grabbed his arms, unintentionally putting him in charge and trying to understand his every movement. Hiding in the wardrobe meant that they would have to un-hide, sooner or later. When was up to Fenris.

He moved his head slightly. Squeezed Isabela's arm to get her attention. Then Bethany's. They both reached for their weapons as Fenris threw the door open.

The Venatori - there were three of them - were definitely caught by surprise.

The man was immediately cut down by Fenris' axe, as he lunged forward with a growl. A wet sound, blood gushing, heavy breathing and adrenaline pumping through Fenris' veins as he started glowing. Isabela came out behind Fenris, a dagger in each hand. Bethany was right behind her, raising her staff. One of the women fell back to the doorway, putting a glyph between her and the warrior. The other smashed her staff across Isabela's face, disappeared and then reappeared on the other side of the room. Both Fenris and Isabela threw themselves over her. She fell without a sound.

Soon there was only one Venatori left. Fenris broke her nose, then grabbed her by the throat and dragged her back into the room.

"Warehouse 22, right?" Fenris snarled through clenched teeth.

"What do you mean?" the Venatori asked, shivering and sweating under Fenris grip.

"Don't pretend to be stupid! The Warden you were talking about...You told your friend you had caught him..."

"They did?" Isabela took a step forward, her eyes widening.

The Venatori didn't need more than an interruption. When Fenris momentarily looked at Isabela she quickly put her fingers in her mouth, bit down and within a moment started shaking. Her eyes looked up at Fenris, strangely triumphant, as her body was convulsing, her mouth foaming, before she went limp. A suicide pill.

"Fenris! _No!_ " Bethany cried.

"It's alright", Fenris murmured. "They pretty much told me everything we need to know anyway. Before. They have caught Loghain. They're keeping him in a warehouse by the docks."

"And...Hawke and Aveline?" Isabela asked. Fenris shrugged. His eyes were large and black as ponds.

"We've got no time to lose!" Bethany said. "Let's go!"

 

\---

 

Warehouse 22 was just another dark hovel in one of the back alleys by the docks. One single guard, which was easily taken care of by Isabela, leaving this world with nothing but a whimper and a thud, hitting the ground. They searched the body and found a key which opened the old, rusty door. As quietly as they could, led by Isabela, they entered the warehouse.

Fenris inhaled the familiar smell. Backwater, dust and deals made under the table. Those years filled with vengeance, coming to terms with what had happened to him and trying to build something new. Back then it had seemed impossible. Now those years seemed like a more innocent time. As they made their way further in they could hear several voices. Somebody laughed. And then a groan, as if somebody was in pain. Bethany's face went cold and hard. She gripped her staff tightly. Isabela signaled them to go straight in while she would move in on the flank.

Fenris kicked the door open and attacked, followed by Bethany who made the air sizzle with magic. He could see Isabela appearing seemingly out of nowhere, backstabbing one of the Venatori. And he realized they had gravely underestimated their numbers.

Throuch the hacking and slashing and trying to fight the hostile magic, Fenris estimated there were almost 20 people in the room. Both mages and soldiers. Further in, he saw a figure, tied up and hanging from his arms, ropes tied up in a giant hook in the ceiling. Pale and lean, dark hair covering the face. Bruised and bleeding. Limp. He hoped they weren't too late. And he hoped the fact that there was no sign of Hawke and Aveline didn't mean the worst.

At first the Venatori were taken by surprise. Fenris' axe went through three of them like they were hot butter. Isabela cut down one, and gravely injured another. Bethany paralyzed a vast majority, which bought the others some time. Then the Venatori escaped the surprise, and eventually Bethany's magic trap, and fought back.

Isabela was almost cornered by three warriors; she ducked and evaded, not risking going into close combat. Fenris was thrown into a wall; his head slammed against the wood, causing him feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Bethany was forced back, focusing on escaping both mages and warriors. One of the Venatori unleashed a fire storm, which cut of Bethany from the rest of them, along with two warriors. Fenris realized the flames would quickly eat its way through the week, brittle wood. He felt the heat on his skin, a small streak of panic ran through his body, as the fire spread and he was helplessly forced to watch Bethany's arm being ripped open by a Tevene blade.

A loud roar came from behind, from the door Fenris and Bethany had come through. Aveline ran across the room and smashed one of the enemy soldiers across her face. She fell back, coughing blood, as Aveline advanced through the room. Fenris followed her, kicking the bleeding Venatori in her stomach, before he buried his axe in her neck.

Hawke emerged in a dark - and now due to the fire, rather smokey - corner, cutting the heel cords of a mage, and then his throat. Fenris felt a jolt through his body, and with new energy he turned around and ran towards Bethany, and the fire surrounding them. White flashes rippled over Fenris' body as he turned transparent and phased through the fire. He ripped out the heart of one warrior, and smashed the others knee caps.

The last thing Fenris saw before escaping through a door nearby, followed by Bethany, was Loghain making short work of the last Venatori. A moment of confusion - if Loghain was free, then who was it the Venatori had caught? - before Bethany dragged him around the overlit room. They came back to the head entrance, helped a bleeding Isabela to her feet, while Hawke was supporting Aveline and Loghain cut down the tortured man. The warehouse was all smoke and heat, itching eyes and aching throats, as they stumbled back outside.

Fenris grabbed Hawke's arm and hung on to her like his life depended on it. Aveline started to push back the flocks of curious, and rather drunk, people who had gathered, while Bethany sat down and attended to her injuries. Luckily, a few of the city guards had heard the ruckus, and could help Aveline clearing out the small alley, and start a water chain, atleast trying to limit the fire.

The rest of them went further into the alley, hiding in the darkness, while Aveline turned the crowds focus to her.

"Where did you...How did you know we were..." Fenris stuttered.

"We passed on or way back to the ship. We came through here after we escaped a rather pathetic robbery attempt", Hawke explained. "I could recognize your battle cries anywhere."

Her eyes were as warm as her breath against his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, let his pulse slow down even more.

"We thought they had caught Loghain", Isabela said, leaning forward, her hands on her knees. "I...we..we can explain later. Who is that?"

Loghain had carried the prisoner to a corner across the alley, out of harms way. He gently pushed the hair out of the man's face, giving him a drink from Loghain's waterskin. Bethany inhaled and put a hand over her mouth.

"Maker's breath", she said. "Is that… _Nathaniel Howe?_ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You did not see that coming, did you?  
> ...plx tell me you didn't? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Since I played DA: I I've been wondering about how Hawke and Loghain met. So I decided to write about it. :)


End file.
